Fool me Twice
by Analyn 100
Summary: Catherine Adams loves to play games with Spencer. He may have been out of prison for two months, but like the cat playing with the mouse, Spencer will never be free.
1. Chapter 1

Setting: July 17, 2017

Spencer Reid collapsed on the hotel room bed, for once not caring to mill over the folders of case files in his satchel. He pulled his credentials out of his pocket, eyeing the young man in the photograph. He looked so young, carefree. It really hadn't been that long ago, but it felt like a lifetime ago. Reinstatement to the Bureau still felt like a dream as much as Mexico had felt like a nightmare. His brain was determined to deny both realities.

He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head to dispel the memories of the last hotel room he'd been in. In some ways he was desperate to remember, so desperate in fact that he'd been on his way to another hypnotherapy session when Rossi had intercepted him. It was a blessing. Rossi (the whole team) had stressed that point over and over again. Once he remembered, he would never forget and some bones were best left buried. So he'd spent his time with his mom at her new facility, taking J.J.'s kids to the zoo (that hadn't gone over so well), basically anything to keep his mind off of - them. Any of them. Lindsey (or whatever her name was), Wilkins, especially Cat. Wilkins and Lindsey may have been the perpetrators but they never would have done anything without her - her and that poor damned to Hell child she was caring.

The child, the poor kid was going to be raised by drug cartels and mobsters. The kid was never going to have a chance, not even a snow ball's chance in Hell of becoming a decent person. J.J. had told him, Rossi, everyone, even Morgan had told him to drop it, but he hadn't. If only the poor kid could grow up away from...this. Never hear his name, or hers...never come after him for revenge on her behest. Such was his (rational) fear, that he had inquired as to what would happen to the baby. Maybe he could find a couple in the Bureau who wanted to adopt. Someone who would know about the case for security but with no emotional connection...but that had been a bust. Mothers in prison had very few rights, but choosing who had custody of the baby was one of them.

He sighed as he picked through the case files, determined to focus on a problem he could actually potentially solve, but even that didn't give his stressed brain any relief. Two Jane Dos, mutilated, raped and decomposed. Heads and hands chopped off so no ID, wounds were post-mortem and the mutilation was so crude that they couldn't be certain that it wasn't caused by animals. Problem with that theory was the public dump site. Why mutilate a body beyond recognition, then put it on display? The decomposition was so severe that there wasn't even an obvious time of death. Well the team certainly had their work cut out for them. What a way to end a six month leave?

A knock on the door gave him a brief reprieve from the depression staring him in the face.

"Who is it?" Never again would he simply open a hotel room door.

"Detective Garrison, Detroit PD."

He opened the door, expecting to be given a new set of case files and a team just behind him, but the only person there was another local and they did not look happy at all. "Can I help you?"

"Spencer Reid?"

"Yes."

"Put your hands where I can see them."

Were those handcuffs in his hand? "I don't -"

Such was his shock, that Reid didn't even bother to struggle as his hands were wrenched behind his back.

"Dr. Spencer Reid, you are under arrest!"

*** SIX HUNDRED MILES AWAY ***

Catherine Adams smiled, a victorious smile that was not often to be seen in the frozen hell of FCI Waseca's solitary confinement cells, but today was special.

IT IS DONE

Such a simple, yet profound message. She sat her aching back on her cold hard cot, marveling at the bold red print on the crisp white paper. She would have to find some way to have this 'framed'. "You hear that, Maeve?" She stroked her bulging belly. "We've got Daddy right where he belongs."

Her twisted smile grew as she remembered her last meeting with Spency. 'Watch me.' Those were the last words he'd spoken to her before attempting to walk out of their lives forever. He may have won the battles, but she was about to win the war.

"No, Spency, you watch ME!"


	2. Chapter 2

Setting: July 18, 2017.

Chapter 2

Spencer Reid paced his small solitary jail cell with all the pent up energy of a caged tiger. What in the Hell? He raised his hand to slam it against the stone wall but managed to stop himself. There was no better way to get a bad rep with the guards than unprovoked self-mutilation. How many times had he seen a fellow inmate taken off to psych at Milburn for such a thing? He instead wrung his fingers together so tightly that he may well have dislocated his knuckles. Damn. The team would be here soon. The arrest may have happened at 10 pm, but it had to be morning by now. Surely they would notice when he didn't meet them by the SUV. Garcia would figure it out, and by her style it would take approximately 30 seconds to unravel the mystery that he'd spent the last what 9 hours contemplating. It didn't make any sense. The last time Cat and Lindsey had done a brilliant frame up job. He hated to compliment psychopaths, but it really was brilliant. Lindsey practically had to hand the answers to the team on a silver platter before anyone had a clue. But this? The team had kept him on a tight leash for fear of retaliation. It had been mostly paranoia with them in prison, but another accomplice trying to dish out the same twisted justice was still a possibility so every precaution had been taken. In Mexico he'd been at the crime scene, got his blood at the scene and had been caught fleeing - acting the Agent in a place that he KNEW he didn't have jurisdiction. Quite a stupid move for such a genius, but desperate - and drugged - people did stupid things. Clearly he was no exception there. But this time, he hadn't been in a compromising situation. What on earth could possibly warrant this arrest?

He decided to count his lucky stars that he'd been put into a segregation cell. At least he didn't have to sleep with one eye open, but his night of sleep hadn't been that much better. Jetlag had caught up to him and he'd finally gotten a full three hours of sleep before being awaked to a tray of - slop. To some it may have passed as oatmeal, but he wouldn't be so generous in his description. He'd managed to choke it down, before count began. If there were only three thing certain in this miserable life, it was: death, taxes and count.

The metal "mail slot" to his cell opened. He knew what that cue meant. He slipped his hands through the opening to allow for the dreaded handcuffs. Did they really need to be that tight?

"This way," the Guard -Timmons- instructed. "Follow me."

"Do I get my phone call now?" They passed a row of pay phones but he didn't have an account set up yet. Or did he? He hated being in the dark.

"All in good time", the guard - Timmons - assured him.

Whatever that meant. "And what time would that be?" Relax, Reid, the man's just doing his job.

"As soon as you're done here." The visitation room door was opened and the cuffs removed. With the dreaded click the lock was sealed and Reid turned around, half expecting to see a team member with information. His luck, however, seemed to have run out. The face that greeted him was familiar. Unwelcome, but familiar. "Detective Garrison."

"Dr. Reid." The greeting was curt and professional but that smile was, unnerving. "Take a seat." He indicated the metal chair at the other end of the table. "Have any questions for me, before we get started?"

"When do I get my phone call?"

"If you're asking for your attorney -"

"I am."

"I've already spoken to Miss Duncan on your behalf. She is in court with a client but will be out here this weekend."

That meant they'd already looked at his prison file, which meant they knew he was an agent - an agent with a record. Fiona had mentioned that getting records expunged was a lengthy process which had only just begun. That was beginning to look like a pipe dream. "We're done here."

"Sit. Down!"

"I'm not going to talk without my lawyer." It was true, what Hotch had always said about repeat offenders. Those who had been to jail before knew the drill and rarely talked without an attorney. Theoretically, he fit that profile too now. That thought was more than a little unnerving.

"Well then don't talk. Just listen. I, for one, am required to inform you of your charges and I intend to do that."

Reluctantly, he obeyed. The man did have a point.

"Dr. Reid, you have been charged on two counts of murder and rape."

"I didn't do it." Fiona wouldn't be mad at him for saying that much, would she?

"You don't sound all that surprised."

Technically, that wasn't a question, and they both knew it.

"I've been framed before. But obviously, you knew that."

"What is obvious to me, is that you walked away from the Ramos charge in Mexico, but you won't walk out this time. Come now, Dr. Reid, your reputation, both good and bad proceed you. So what I'm going to do is something that I never do for an inmate. I'm going to show you a little respect."

"Respect?" Reid stared at the man in disbelief. An officer showing respect to an inmate. Well, that would be a first.

"Yes." He drummed his fingers against two case file folders which had been rubberbanded together with a white envelope on top. He pushed the stack toward Reid, with a small smile. He looked quite pleased with himself. "This is my idea of respect. You're a smart man, Dr. Reid. Act like it."

Reid frowned, trying to wrap his head around this madness. He was getting used to being confused, and he didn't like it. "What makes you so confident that I did this?"

The detective didn't answer and on a professional level, he understood. No officer or agent liked it when the questions were turned on them. He took a deep breath and looked the detective in the eye, hoping to convey the intended emotions. Anxiety could be interpreted as guilt very easily. "You didn't wait to charge me. No holding cell, no questions. Nothing. What makes you that confident that I'm your unsub? Man, I just got OUT of prison. Why on earth would I want to risk going back? It makes no sense at all!"

"I don't know why, Dr. Reid, and unlike you, I'm not going to sit at my desk playing guessing games. Guard!"

Timmons walked back in the room. "Escort Inmate Reid back to his cell, and make sure he is given these files to browse at his leisure. Have a good day, Dr. Reid." He tipped his hat in what could only be describe as a mock salute and exited the room.

* * *

Reid laid back on his bunk, twirling the card in his hand. Detective Garrison had been "nice" enough to leave a calling card so he could make his phone call at his 'earliest convenience' which probably wouldn't be until he was let out for his one hour a day. That left him plenty of time to browse the files. His curiosity was driving him nuts. On the one hand, he wanted to see the so-called evidence to put his mind at ease. On the other hand, if the new accomplices were just as smart, the evidence might not have that calming effect. Oh, come now, Spencer, he chided himself. What could they possibly have on you? Well, apparently, something really incriminating to warrant skipping a proper interrogation tactic, and what a strange tactic this was too. He certainly had never been tempted to hand over a file to an unsub to 'browse at leisure'.

Oh to Hell with it. He picked plucked the white envelope out from the rubberbands. Maybe a letter from the team?

 _Dear Dr. Reid,_

 _You may not remember me from the arsonist case a few years ago, but I remember you. Your help was very appreciated and I have the greatest respect for your team which is why it grieves me to see you here. But we must do as we must, which is to follow the evidence. Honestly, I did not think you would come, but then again the bodies were unidentified so you must have thought you would get away with it - that you could frame someone else for your murder, inject yourself into the investigation as Agent Hotchner would say.-_

Wait just one -! Reid put the bizarre letter down and ripped open the files against his better judgement. Inject himself into the investigation? - but that would have to mean -

It was a trick. Unbelieveable, sneaky bastards. Sh*t!

Of course, it was a state case. They couldn't arrest him outside of their jurisdiction and what better way to get him to come -? He fisted the papers in his hands, the same papers he had been looking over in his hotel room. Did he really profile as - ? Think rationally, Reid, logic! Logic is the key here. It almost made sense in that he would know how to take extreme forensic countermeasures and post mortem mutilation meant - well, that. It was more about the countermeasures than any torture. That's what one would expect of a cop-turned-killer. But that still didn't answer - He picked up the letter again.

 _Enclosed is the primary evidence against you. The only form in these files that was NOT sent to Quantico. After you have reviewed the case in its entirety, I'm sure you will want to sign the very generous plea offer. I will return to pick up the completed paperwork._

 _Regards,_  
 _Detective Garrison_

Reid gulped as he fingered the second page, his hand shaking. How bad could it be? Just do it, it's planted evidence. Whatever it is, the team will figure it out. You have nothing to hide...nothing to fear. You're innocent. You know that, this paper won't change anything.

Before he could change his mind, he unfolded the paper and read it in a heartbeat,

He shook his head in denial - no. It couldn't. It was impossible, preposterous even and yet - I'm screwed. In that one millisecond, he knew the awful truth.

With the stakes at their highest, Cat had just played a hand of aces...and he had nothing.


	3. Chapter 3

July 22, 2017

Chapter Three

Everyone had to sleep. It was fundamental to a person's health - both physical AND mental, even the strongest minds could not live on adrenaline alone. Spencer Reid's brain had met its match, he realized as he woke to a face full of...papers. Papers strewn over every square inch of his cell. It was only after his first sighting of hope that he'd finally allowed himself the luxury of sleep for the first time in...had it really been days? With no sunlight and no work assignment,the days had blended together. He never thought for one second that he would miss the laundry room of Milburn. But he did - talking to Delgado and Malcom had taken the edge off of his boredom. Now? Now he had nothing, except perhaps a small ray of hope.

The more he cleared his mind and studied the photos objectively, he realized what he should have realized in a heartbeat. The victims had been found off of a popular hiking trail. How had they not been found for months? Because they weren't there for months. Someone must have planted them, dug them up and planted them where they WOULD certainly be found. It couldn't have been him - of course not - he had been in DC when the bodies were planted!

He dropped his head into his arms as the ray of hope disappeared, like a rock slide covering a tunnel entrance. That didn't mean anything. The prosecution would assume he had an accomplice, besides that small alibi wouldn't trump Cat's hand of aces.

His only hope was that these women had been killed while he was in Milburn - no one could deny him that alibi - but he knew he wouldn't be so luck. Cat wouldn't let her accomplices make such a stupid mistake. It was hopeless. He threw his ball point pen across the cell, wishing he had a plain notebook. If only he could write enough notes on this case to fill a novel, but the only papers he had were official forms which required his signature. Forms he had no intention of signing - some of which had still resisted reading.

The mail slot opened again.

"I told you, I'm not signing anything!" Timmons had been sent twice already to collect the forms that Reid hadn't even spared a glance at. He was still too busy trying to crack the case to bother.

"Visitation time."

Finally. The only word that could get Reid to willingly slide his hand through the slot for handcuffs.

Timmons led him out and down to the visitation room, but instead of a team member, it was. "Fiona" He breathed a sigh of relief as the door closed.

"Spencer." She replied curtly, offering him a seat. She didn't look pleased to see him, but that wasn't a surprise since he'd jokingly promised to never call her again. People simply did not get framed for murder twice. He had a better chance of being struck by lightening twice: so about 1 in a billion.

"Detective Garrison said you wouldn't be by until the weekend. Its..."

"Saturday."

"Oh. Right. So..."

"What happened."

"I didn't do it."

"Spencer!"

"I swear, Fiona, I didn't! Don't you believe me?" Was she really not going to take his case? Of course she would, she wouldn't fly out to Michigan just to say 'hi' "You have to believe me. What did the team tell you?" Did they actually think...why hadn't they visited? He hadn't let himself dwell on that question.

"Nothing. Emily stopped by my office..."

"Wait...they aren't here?" He sank down into his chair, his head in his hands. They weren't coming?

"Speencer..." a small voice whistled in his ear.

He looked up at Fiona's sad smile. "There's still this thing you keep forgetting about called 'attorney/client confidentiality'. I told Emily I needed to speak to you first. Most of my clients would frown upon me openly discussing their case with the Feds."

"But I'm not -" he protested.

"I know, You're right. You aren't like most of them. Most of my clients don't get framed once, let alone twice. So what happened?"

"I don't know!"

"Spencer, Emily told me you and the rest of the team were coming here to consult on a case and you were arrested as the prime suspect upon arrival. So you've seen the case file, which means you know _something_. What's your take on it?"

"The bodies were found near a well-worn hiking trail. Which begs the question why they weren't found sooner when they've obviously been dead for some time. That points to planted evidence, but the coroner didn't have an exact time of death." He took a deep breath to steady his voice. "So we can't provide an alibi. The key is getting an ID, but with that level of mutilation..." And there began the cycle. The point his brain always came back to. Without an ID, the physical evidence alone would convict him. Cat was going to win. "She's going to win," he sighed.

"Who is going to win?"

"Cat!" He bit the name out, as if it left a bad taste in his mouth.

"What does your cat have anything..."

He laughed. The closest thing a real laugh he'd had in a long time. "You really don't know anything here, do you?"

Fiona smiled, slightly insulted but she seemed to have lifted Spencer spirits, somehow. "Do me a favor, Spencer. Enlighten me."

"Well after I got out of Millburn -"

"You mean after your team went to the Judge behind my back -"

" _Right_."

Fiona didn't seem to mad, amused maybe, but only because the tactic had worked. She wasn't going to be too upset about exculpatory evidence, but that didn't mean such misconduct would be permitted again.

"I um, J.J. and I went to confront Cat - Catherine Adams - about my mother's abduction."

Fiona sat back in her chair and listened in rapt attention to a story that was stranger than fiction.

* * *

Spencer looked up from his lap to give her a grim look of resignation. "Well, there you have it."

"So, wait...this happened in Mexico! And you thought I didn't need to know about it! Didn't I say that if you withheld information from me, it would come back to bite you in the ass?"

"I was drugged. I don't remember. Honestly, I don't." He was starting to sound like a broken record.

"You don't remember being drugged, sexually molested and having your semen bagged?"

He shook his head, his face in his hands.

"Spencer that's..." She didn't even know what to make of it.

"Preposterous. I know, that's exactly what I told HER! But..." He looked up from the table and held up the one paper that had plagued his mind both day and night for the last three days.

"But somehow someone got access to your semen and planted it INSIDE the victims, so that the rape kit would be matched to you. Is there any other way? Did you ever give a sample to a sperm bank? A fertility clinic? Does anyone else have access to -?"

"No! So how do we prove -?"

"We can't. Not right now."

"We need more victims." He had been hoping that wasn't the case. He hated wishing ill on anyone.

"Not necessarily. If you never visited Cat in prison prior to the pregnancy test, then a paternity test could PROVE that someone else had the opportunity to commit this crime. That baby is your only hope of getting out of here - ever."


	4. Chapter 4

July 24, 2017 - a week since Reid's arrest.

Rossi Manor was a place of elegance and sophistication, one did not eat take-out pizza in David Rossi's kitchen. It simply did not happen, until today. Gone were the parties of excellent food and better company, today the team was scattered on various couches and chairs with half empty pizza boxes and coffee cups. Penelope and J.J. were even eating ice cream straight from the carton, but even that amount of caffeine and sugar couldn't break through the brain fog.

"Please tell me one of my furry friends has a clue what's going on?" Garcia pleaded, her eyes on Michael who was playing with Rossi's dog.

"And why did Emily summon us all here? Where is she anyway?"

"Meeting with the Director," Rossi answered, not looking up from his laptop.

"Wait, what? Why would she need -?"

"Someone got wind that I used the Dr/Dr trick at Millburn, plus Reid's prisoner transport from Mexico wasn't exactly by the book, so we're under investigation for misconduct." Tara sipped her coffee and grimaced. It seemed like such a good idea at the time.

"Who told -?" A buzzing from Garcia's phone and the question died on her lips, quickly replaced with a smile. "Yes I accept the charges. Hey, Reid, how's my Dr. Genius doing?"

Reid's voice filled the room on speaker phone. "Wow, I get a witty Garcia greeting? Even from in here?"

"Anything to get a smile on your face, Boy Wonder. So what can I do you for? How are you?"

"Oh, I've been better."

"Reid, that doesn't answer my question."

"Fiona said you're in D.C.? Why didn't you come to visit?"

"Oh sweetie, I'm so sorry. The morning after your arrest, Emily got a call from the Director. We were ordered home right away or we'd face charges of interfering with an investigation."

"So, you'll come see me on your way home from your next West Coast case, right?" The hope in his voice was almost tangible and it made Penelope's heart break.

"I'm sorry, we aren't allowed. Our visitation application was denied." Silence. Except for the raspy breathing on the other end of the line.

"Reid? Is there anyone else you want to see? Anyone I could call for you?"

"No." He sounded close to tears. "Actually, no, no they're...never mind."

"Reid, who?"

"It's too far, to...never mind."

"Here, let me," Rossi took the phone from Garcia. "Reid, Rossi here, hang in there, okay, Kid. Now that we have a mailing address for you, went sent you some surprises last night."

"Surprises? What kind of surprises?"

"Well that would spoil the _surprise_ wouldn't it? Something to keep that - what did you call it, Garcia? - that gorgeous grey matter working at top notch. And don't use all of that commissary money we sent on phone calls. You call us collect, okay?"

"Commissary money? What could I buy of interest in here?"

"I don't know, ask for the list, I'm sure you could find something to make you more comfortable there. You _are_ in PC, right?"

"Yeah, I'm in Protective Custody."

"You don't sound so thrilled. Isn't that what you wanted last time?"

"Wanted? Who wants to be locked up 23 hours a day? My hour a day rotates between "yard time" in an outdoor cage, 2 showers per week, and..."

"-visitation and phone time, like now."

"Right, like now."

"Speaking of phone time, how much do you have left?"

"17 minutes."

"Okay, back to business. Do you have any idea who Cat could be working with now that Lindsey is in prison? Anyone with a reason to hurt you?"

"No, I mean, yes, but they are in too. Alvez told me Shaw is in Milan which is about 50 miles away….Oh God no!"

"Reid, you are in the state system, Shaw is in Federal. He's not there, you're okay."

"But it's not… it's not that far away what if-?"

"Sounds like you're onto something, Kid, tell me!"

"What if Shaw was working with -? I don't know, but what if he had someone transport bodies across the state line. If they are ID-ed I could -" _End up back in with Shaw at FCI Milan!_ Suddenly finding the ID sounded like just as much a death sentence. "But the rape kit - that still wouldn't -"

"One thing at a time, Kid. We'll look into Shaw. Anyone else?"

"Well he worked with Frazer, Duerson and Malcom in Millburn, but it couldn't be -"

"Why not? Tell me, even if it sounds crazy we can still ask around."

"But if you can't work the case -?"

"We have access to the records Reid, just not the tangible evidence -"

"Or the suspect," he finished bitterly.

"Unfortunately, yes, but we can still help and we will. So what about them?"

"Okay, J.J. remember when Henry wanted me to take him to the zoo for a late birthday?"

"Yes, I remember. I tried to talk him out of it, but he was insistent that he wanted his Uncle Spence to teach him all about the animals. He had a great time, thank you."

"You remember how that day _ended_?"

"You mean with Alvez taking over, because…" because Reid being traumatized by seeing so many innocent animals locked up had shown her just how much prison had affected him. "He asked me why I was so upset and could the team help?"

"Who asked you? Henry?" Henry didn't even know Reid had been in prison.

"No, Alvez. I thought...I thought it would happen again, that one of them would have someone kill me. That's why I was so eager to move my mom out of harm's way -"

"You mean out of your apartment and to her new facility in Maryland." And here they all thought Reid had finally listened to reason.

"I thought I was being paranoid, but Lindsey got that apartment down the hall and - I was scared, paranoid maybe."

"It's not paranoia if someone's out to get you." You're not crazy. The unspoken message seemed to get across because his voice sounded steadier. "Anyway, he told me how Shaw was moved after he failed to keep his end of the deal."

"The deal to keep you safe?"

"Exactly, I asked him if he could put in some requests for me." His voice dropped, no doubt so no one else would hear. No inmate in prison wanted to hear that someone had the power to move them. Prison may be prison all the same, but like in real estate: location was key. "Malcom has family in southern CA so he's in Lompoc. He was nice to me most of the time, until...until the last day. Dureson restrained me so he went to Atwater, also in CA. But they're 260 miles apart, so -"

"So none of the guards has dual access" - like Wilkins did - "continue."

"Frazier was the one who actually did...that." He'd seen enough severed carotid wounds in his life time, but the image of it actually happening was burned into his retinas. "He went to Florence, in Colorado. But Cat, she, um, she's in Waseca."

"Wasca, isn't that Minnesota?"

"Surrounded by 15 miles of nothing, yes, that's it."

"Anything else at all? What about Lindsey?"

"That didn't go through. She's in Mount Pleasant."

"Wait, with Cat?"

"That's why I was in a hurry to move her. I didn't want them collaborating. But it's okay, Cat was the mastermind and she's gone now."

There was a collective hush around the room, even a pin drop could have been heard. Reid taking Cat away from Lindsey had been the primary motivation, but Reid hadn't known that. After his mother had been found, nothing else had mattered to him at all. "Except that she's done it again."

"But how?"

How indeed.


	5. chapter 5

July 28, 2017

Fifteen, Sixteen, Seventeen! Damn it! Spencer Reid finally put down the pillow he'd been banging against his cell wall. He had never wanted so much to punch something -anything. He rubbed the tears that were threatening to spill out of his eyes. Crying wasn't going to make anything better. He'd managed not to cry in Millburn for goodness sake, but that was because he knew he would be marked as easy prey if he showed any weakness, but now? Now there was nothing but white stone walls and bed sheets. No one to see, no one to judge. The pounding of the gavel and those damned words reverberated inside his skull, refusing him any peace. Bail denied.

He should not have been surprised. Fiona had warned him that he no longer had a clean record, that two arrests in one year would be counted against him. But he'd been framed! His protests - via Fiona - had fallen on deaf ears. Cat may have confessed but Lindsey was the one in Mexico, and Lindsey's mouth was sealed tighter than Fort Knox. Add to the fact that Lindsey had plead guilty to 11 murders, 9 of which were in Texas and the last 2 were of US citizens in Mexico- but Nadie wasn't among them. Nadie's murder was with a knife and she was fighting it. She was already in for life which meant she was simply toying with him. There was no other explanation.

He threw the pillow again. What on earth had he ever done to Lindsey? He'd saved her, for goodness sake. He had entered that godforsaken bathroom to save her without back-up. He had put his life on the line for her - and this was his gratitude? No, 'thank you, Dr. Reid for trying to save my life!' No all he'd gotten was the 'if looks could kill' stare - and this.

He laid down on his bunk, hoping a nap would help quell his turbulent emotions. Was he being stupid by pleading not guilty? 25-years to life? He couldn't live like this for 25 years! That 10-15 years offer he'd ripped up in front of Fiona was now looking very tempting - especially Garrison's "generous" offer of allowing him to pick his own prison. But that was gone now, gone with his arraignment. He picked up the case files again, only to throw them back down as the tears clouded his vision. It was hopeless.

* * *

Penelope Garcia was a splash of color, the light among all the darkness, the positive spirit that lifted everyone out of their depressions. That was how she had survived losing her parents, leaving Shane. How she had survived being shot by a man she thought had honestly liked her. Jason Clarke Battle had messed with her head, taken away her sense of safety and security, but everything paled in comparison to the mess Boy Wonder had been dragged in to.

She stood at the doorway, Emily's and Tara's calming voices in the earpiece reassuring her.

After taking 10 deep breaths, trying to calm her pounding heart, she stepped into the interrogation room. She had never felt so out of place in her life, despite the fact that she had never before blended in so well in her black skirt and jacket. The only part of her perky spirit that could be seen was in her ruby red blouse and silver heart-shaped necklace which she twisted between her painted fingernails.

She placed the small tripod stand and digital recorder on the table, fingering the files tucked under her arms. 'You've done this before, you've presented hundreds of cases.' The problem was she'd never done so before the killer herself. She's chained to the chair, Garcia reassured herself. She had confirmed so from the observation window. She couldn't go anywhere or do...anything.

"Hello. My name is Agent Garcia. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me for the FBI's Vicap Studies."

The devil that was named Lindsey Vaughn nodded ever so slightly, her petite form and small smile belying the danger that lurked behind those cold hard eyes.

She picked up the files, giving a half way smile to the victim-turned-criminal. "I must say, Miss Vaughn, I am impressed. You've been quite the busy bee, we don't often see women killers who manage to evade law enforcement for so long." Flatter her, Emily had encouraged. Flattery was the key.

Lindsey scoffed, her head held high. "I didn't evade anyone! That would imply that they were after me. No one suspected a THING." Like a snake prowling among the weeds, she could take down even the most formidable prey.

At that moment, she wished more than anything that she was safe in her lair, that it was Reid doing this interviews. He LOVED doing ViCap interviews, he'd even volunteered for them a couple of times, But Reid couldn't do this one, _because of her_! In that moment, she knew. She knew could do this, she could nail this snake if it meant getting Reid back. To get her Dr. Genius back, she could do anything.


	6. Chapter 6

July 27, 2017

"Well you got caught, so someone must have suspected."

"There's a reason I don't trust people. First accomplice I've worked with and he gives it all away."

"Who was that?" This might be easier than she ever thought possible.

 _"Penelope!"_ Emily's warning hissed in her ear. They had to tread carefully and Garcia was already throwing caution to the wind.

"That case isn't up for discussion." Right. They only had permission from her lawyer to discuss closed cases, murders to which she had already plead guilty.

"So which case would you like to discuss?" She placed Cassie's photo just slightly off the center as Emily had indicated, by no means hidden but not so central as to draw suspicious attention

Lindsey was positively giddy as she surveyed the line up of brutal photos, picking one out and handing it to Penelope. "This one." It seemed almost as if she was picking out a treat - like a kid in a candy store. Penelope swallowed a lump in her throat, determined not vomit.

 _Let her talk_ , Tara had encouraged. _Only ask the questions if she stops talking._ Lindsey ran her mouth off about the murders in the U.S. to which she had plead guilty, but those cases weren't the reason for her visit.

"Now, I understand, Miss Vaughn-" How she hated treating the snake with any kind of respect "- that you've had dealings with the FBI in the past. How would you say your previous experience with law enforcement affected your decisions?" _Keep to open-ended questions - questions that can't be answered with one word._

"You mean when I was kidnapped?"

"Yes, the FBI was called in to look for you and your friend - Katie. Katie Owens?" Garcia pretended to double-check the name in her files, as if she hadn't been there. As if she hadn't listened to all of Katie's blogs about her friend Lindsey and how even at that young age she found Lindsey's dad to be creepy.

"The FBI didn't DO anything!"

Was that what she thought of them? "According to reports, an agent realized you were at the school and -" _Don't mention Reid's name. Don't!_ Tara and Emily had been insistent on that point. If she tried to influence Lindsey's words, coerce a confession, then the tape may be inadmissible. This tape could either be considered trash, or worth its weight in gold to the defense.

"And did nothing! He didn't try to save me! He tried to save - him!"

"Him who?"

"Ryan Phillips!" she spat the name out like sour milk. "He took me! Ryan took me and killed Katie! And what does Agent Reid do? I was the the one threatened and he - he acted like Ryan was the victim. Like we were the bad guys! That's when I knew cops couldn't be trusted. You want justice, you take it for yourself. Just like my dad did. My dad was just protecting me. Self defense, no more no less. That's not a crime."

Penelope felt a chill go down her spine. That wasn't what Reid's report said. He described the stand-off as Ryan on the floor, the knife out of his reach, defenseless. Lindsey had been safe behind her father, no immediate threat to her life. "So you don't believe your father could have aided the agent in bringing Philips in peacefully?"

Lindsey hesitated before shaking her head emphatically. "No. No, Ryan was too dangerous. He would have fought his way out. My father did Agent Reid a favor."

A favor? Reid certainly hadn't seen it that way. According to her Chocolate Thunder, Reid had been shaking in the car the whole way back to the station. But that wasn't in a report.

"They didn't care!" Gone were Lindsey's gloating smirk and proud eyes. Is this a trick? A play for sympathy?

No wonder she hadn't trusted the cops, no wonder she'd agreed to the plot when Reid's name came back into her life. "Of course he cared. He went in without back up to save you. Lindsey, sweetheart, you've got this all wrong." Empathy was key number two that Emily had insisted she fake, but she wasn't faking. The poor girl. Was that why she had been so keen on getting revenge for Cat? She wanted Reid to know how it felt to have the tables turned?

"Don't call me that! Cat's the only -"

"I'm sorry, who?"

"Nothing."

She was close, so close.

"Drop it! Change the subject," Emily's order cam in loud and clear. If she got suspicious about questions pertaining to Cat, she might call off the whole meeting.

"Okay, okay, I didn't mean to upset you. Let's talk instead about Mexico. You plead guilty to the murder of Maria Diaz. What can you tell me about her?"

"Not much to tell, really. She didn't pay her debts."

"That's it? That's why you killed her? Why not hold her hostage and get your money from her family?" Oh how she hated thinking like unsubs.

"Oh please," she scoffed. "like I want to draw attention. A bullet to the back of the head is much more effective."

"Walk me through it. What happened?"

"What do you think happened?" The smirk was back.

"Well according to her file she left her hotel at 8 pm on November 23, 2016. She was reported missing the next day when she didn't meet her family. After that, the trail went cold."

"Because she met me! She wanted drugs for her customers, but she didn't have any money. I had loaned her a small amount of heroin in the past, but she wanted more drugs this time and without paying? What did she think would happen?"

"You had loaned her drugs in the past? She was from Corpus Christie. How did you find each other in Mexico?"

"There are these things called cell phones."

"Right, of course. What I meant was, did you plan to meet her ahead of time?"

"No. She called me that evening, asked if I could meet her the next morning in La Paloma -"

"La Paloma, is that -?"

"That's in Texas. I told her not to worry - that I was in Mexico just south of the border. I could meet her at the Fortinas Motel in Matomoros. I shot her an hour later."

"Don't mention anything else about Matomoros!" Emily's order warned. "Tell her you'll be back."

"Well it's been very nice to meet you, Lindsey. I wish I could stay, but my time here is short. I look forward to meeting with you again."

"As do I." She gave a polite nod in acknowledgement as Garcia gathered up her equipment and left the room.

* * *

Emily Prentiss had seen her days of holding another woman's hair as she vomited, but that was usually after a fun night of partying. This was - not.

Garcia looked up from the trash, wide-eyed and pale. "I hate psychos."

"Don't we all?"

"How do -? Never mind." She cut the question off. It was something none of them had ever been able to satisfactorily explain to her. How could they talk to these people and look at those photos all day long?

"Are you feeling better?" Emily kept a comforting hand on her back, supporting her as they finished the walk across the prison parking lot.

Did she feel better? A little less wobbly, but her mind? Her heart? "Maybe, I guess. I don't need to throw up any more." Probably because there was nothing else left.

Emily handed the keys to Tara and climbed in the back seat with Penelope. Profiling could wait. "I'm proud of you."

"For what? I got nothing." All of that anxiety and nausea and what had she accomplished?

"That's not true." The objection came from the driver's seat. "You placed Lindsey in Matamoros."

"That's nothing new!"

"She named Reid on her own, no hint or anything. So now the prosecution will know that she remembers him from all those years ago - and you place Lindsey at the hotel where Nadie was killed on a day that Reid was in Mexico. Plus, when you go through Maria Diaz phone records, you can get Lindsey's number to cross-reference. That's a lot!"

"It's not enough! It's not good enough!" The tears were back with a vengeance. "How can you say I got 'a lot'. Reid's still -"

"Garcia?" Emily nudged the head resting on her shoulder. "Did you think you'd get a confession? Oh, Sweetie. You thought we'd be able to bring him home today? Didn't you?"

Penelope didn't even look up from Emily's shoulder. "Stupid, I know but - it worked last time!"

"Penelope, today was a fishing expedition and you've given us a lot to work with."

"Why? Why did you send me? I'm not a profiler! I hate thinking like a profiler." There was a reason, a really good reason why she turned off her webcam whenever the conversations on the jet turned to icky things.

"You know why. No other team is going to believe she's behind this, and your're the only one on the team she doesn't know."

"Do I have to go back in there? For reals?" She didn't want to go back in there, ever! Prisons were the most depressing Hell hole on the planet.

"I hope not." She gave Garcia another hug. "Go, go rest."

"Rest? It's only 2 pm." She looked out the window to a familiar sight: home.

"We've got a new case in Indiana. We'll call you when we get there. In the the meantime, go rest. Take care of yourself and we'll call you in a few hours."

As Emily watched her walk safely through the gate, her mind was brought back to their conversation the night before Reid's release from Millburn, when they had burned the midnight oil in a desperate attempt to put together a paper trail worthy of exoneration before anything... _else_ happened

 _Reid dies, I quit._ She had assured her that would never happen, not really taking into consideration that they really had no control over it. No matter how many rules they bent or strings they pulled.

 _Emily, I'm exhausted and it is breaking me. This whole year has been an emotional roller coaster and its like every time something happens, there's a piece of my soul that is chipped away and if one more thing goes down - I don't think there's going to be anything left._

She was going to have to tread with extreme caution or this time, she would loose Reid and Garcia from the team, forever.


	7. Chapter 7

July 27 2017 & 30, 2017

Two hours and a hot shower later and Penelope was back to her usual self...almost. This could not be this hard. Once they'd had one piece of evidence for Nadie's murder, they'd been able to unravel the entire case in a single night! She sighed, practically slamming her mug of peppermint tea down on the table. She chewed on her nails - a nervous habit, courtesy of Emily. Of course that clue had been provided by Reid. Just like the clue in the Hankel case. Why was it that Reid always had to solve his own cases? She was a fellow genius, she could solve this. She could do it, damn it!

Think, Think, Think. She drummed her fingers against the keyboard, biting her lip. She had Lindsey's cell phone number, but it was a burner. She was sure she could crack this case. She had always managed to dive headfirst into cyberspace, and she always found the treasure chest motherload, but to do that she needed a roadmap and for that she needed...parameters. Maybe a fresh set of eyes would help.

She pulled her glittery cell phone out of her purse again, finger hoovering over Derek's number. She so badly wanted to call her Chocolate Thunder and pick his brain, but Boy Wonder apparently didn't want him to be called. Last time, Emily had emphasized the importance of Reid maintaining control over the one part of his life that was still in his control. He hadn't wanted to talk to Morgan for whatever crazy ego reason his brain had conjured up. She stared at Morgan's name on the screen, debating. To call, or not to call.

"Hey, Baby Girl." What the?

Penelope spun on her heels so fast she almost tumbled over her desk chair...there was her hero, magically appearing on her webcam frame. Derek Morgan, lifting his baby boy up to the web cam.

"Hi, Hank!"

"So, a little bird named Emily told me you had a bad day."

* * *

Visitation.

The one word could send an inmate through a myriad of emotions: guilt, longing, happiness, despair. There were days of longing for it, and days of dreading it. There were even days where an inmate might prefer to stay in his cell, rather than to have all of his hopes and dreams dangled in front of him - like carrot on a stick. But when a friend - who KNOWS he isn't on your visitation list - shows up after a multi-hour trip, well it would be rude NOT to come.

Upon entering the jail visitation room, Spencer Reid had to do a double-take: booth seating with no partitions? There was a single handcuff dangling by a long chain mounted to the wall. Still, he thought as the guard changed the cuffs, this wasn't too bad. He only had to wait a couple of minutes before a very familiar face came into view. He didn't have his usual exuberance, but his strained smile was still a welcome sight.

"Morgan!" He had to cross his shackled legs under the table to stop himself from attempting to stand for a greeting.

"Hey, there, kid." Morgan took the seat opposing him as he'd obviously been instructed. "How are you holding up?"

"Pretty good, it's been better since Rossi sent a surprise."

"Do tell." It was a pleasant surprise just to see a smile on Reid's face...hopefully he wouldn't have to wipe it off.

"Rossi sent me his latest manuscript for editing. Told me to write down 'everything' I know -"

Rossi must have lost his mind, or Reid's mental state was worse than he was letting on. "Let me guess you've finished two notebooks full of 'notes'."

Reid was grinning from ear to ear. "Yup, sounds about right." He didn't need to tell Morgan that he'd been up to the small hours of the morning adding notes to the margins when he'd run out of pages. It had felt so good to get his brain back in gear. "He said I'll get a new chapter every week."

Rossi was letting Reid write his next book? Rossi never let anyone near his manuscripts with a 10 foot pole, never mind what his publisher would think about that. "Reid - why? I told you when I left that if you needed any help all you would have to do is ask. And you obviously need it."

Reid opened his mouth to deny it, but snapped his jaw shut just as quickly. "Do you have pictures of my littlest godson?"

"Do I have -?"Morgan smiled broadly. He pulled a stack out of his jacket pocket. "Boy, do I have pictures for you!"

Morgan allowed the obvious attempt at deflection, keeping an eye on his watch timer while Reid poured over the photos. It would do the kid's mind some good to have actual pleasant conversation - and nothing did that better than babies.

"Morgan, he is the cutest little thing."

"Cuter even than Henry or Michael?" Reid's look of mock outrage would have been a perfect photo. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding."

Reid turned his attention to the next photo. "Wait is he-?"

"Yup, climbing all over the furniture and scaring Savannah half - Reid? Reid, what is it?"

Reid stared at the smiling baby, proud of having climbed up on the chair all by himself. He looked so happy, such carefree _innocence._ Innocence that could be snuffed out like a single candle lighting up the room. He put the photo down, his eyes fixed on Morgan. "You need to leave."

"Reid, I came all the way from Chicago to see you and i still have 53 minutes left and I'm not leaving a second sooner. Why the change of mind?"

"It's not a change of mind, Morgan. There's a reason I didn't write to you in Millburn and there's a reason I didn't write to you this time." He held the picture up. "There's also a reason you left the Bureau."

"Hank? What about him?"

"J.J. and I went to interview Cat to get my mom back when I was released from Millburn and - she threatened him."

"Cat threatened Hank? Reid, she wouldn't. I mean, she got her vices but she's never hurt kids. You said so yourself."

"She was trying to figure out who else she could hurt to get to me and he came up. Mind you, I told her his name is Bobby -"

"-but she still knew about him."

"Exactly. If anything happened - I didn't mention it before because Lindsey was caught that night but under the circumstances.-

"Then I have double the reason to help out. You let me worry about my family. You have enough on your plate right now. Anyway, this isn't totally a social call."

"What do you mean?"

"What happened is you owe Garcia big time, brother. She did a ViCap interview with Lindsey."

There were many possibilities flying through Spencer Reid's slightly dulled brain, but that was not one of them."She what? Garcia interviewed Lindsey in prison?" Reid's eyes went wide. "Garcia doesn't even look at crime scene photos if she can avoid it. Why would she -?"

"Because she cares about you. She wants you home safe and she will do anything she can to prove you're innocent."

"How, though, IA banned the team -"

"From the evidence in the case -"

"-and the suspects."

"But Cruz approved the interview since she isn't officially a suspect."

"She did all of that for me?" he whispered in awe. He knew she would leave no cyber stone un-turned, but to go to a prison? She'd been in tears when she'd come back from visiting Greg Baylor - and that had been for her own peace of mind.

"And I think she's onto something." He picked up the stack of photos and plucked two of them out from the center."Do you know either of these people?" One man and one woman. Reid picked up the one of a tall man with cropped black hair and a small mustache. "Johnny. I met him...at a club meeting."

Morgan's face was frozen half way between a cheer and a groan. "Club meeting?" Their old nickname for 'Narcotics Anonymous'. 10 years on and the topic was still taboo. Damn, again. "How long have you known him?"

"He first came about three years ago. He'd had a relapse after his girlfriend left him and he'd been reassigned to Quantico. Why? You don't think -?"

"I do think."

"It can't -" Johnny couldn't be the mole. He just couldn't be.

"Reid, I don't know why you have so much faith in him, but _listen to me_. It IS him! It makes even MORE sense now! He transferred from the Detroit office and he worked with Shaw before his arrest."

"He wouldn't."

"He works at the BOP. He visited Shaw at Millburn three days before your transfer. He's the one who put the PC block on your file, he's also the one who arranged for them all - Durerson, Frazer, AND CAT - to be transferred out on the same flight. It's him, and his name isn't 'Johnny', it's Joel Matthews."

Reid stared at the picture, trying to wrap his mind around the thought, but it just didn't compute. Reid had confided to him, things that even the team had never known. As much as the team cared, there were things Johnny - Joel - knew that had never even crossed into conversation with the team.

"Reid, it makes sense." Or as much sense as anything did these days.

"No, it doesn't. If he wanted to destroy my career for - something, he could have -" Could have turned Reid in for his past drug use.

"He'd have to incriminate himself on drug charges, Reid, he couldn't do that." Mutually Assured Destruction. There was a reason it was called 'MAD'. "I don't know why he chose that extreme route, Reid, but he did. He's the only suspect who fits the -"

"-criteria," Reid scoffed. "Like me? If you look at my record now, I look like a -"

"DON'T SAY IT." Like a serial killer.

"How did you do it? How did you find him?"

"Garcia got Lindsey's cell phone number. He called her hours after your arrest and his phone pinged at the Brownsville crossing."

"Is it all behavioral evidence or do you have anything forensic?" Anything that could top the evidence against him?

"Not yet, but team is digging deep. We'll find it, whatever it is."

There it was again, empty promises.

"So what do we do, now?"

At least he had stopped fighting it. "We keeping digging until we find enough dirt to bury him under. Now for the good news." He picked up the photo of the woman, looking apprehensive. "Recognize her?"

"Can't say that I do."

"Well, meet the first victim."

"You got an ID? How? There wasn't enough DNA to make a full match."

"True, but the final autopsy report noted a third kidney and therefore a -" He waved an imaginary baton in Reid's direction.

"A kidney transplant patient."

"Bingo! All Garcia had to do was cross reference missing women with the age and approximate height with prescriptions for Mycophe -something."

"Mycophenolic acid? It's a common immunosuppresent for renal patients."

"And that genius brain is back. That's correct...and there was only ONE that fit all criteria."

"So let me guess, they're going to contact the family for a mitochondrial DNA test which doesn't require as much sample as an exact match."

"Crossing all fingers. Hopefully the ID can be officially made. Julia Kelting, here, is going to be your 'get out of jail free' card -"

Reid froze at the name.

"Reid? Reid, _hello. Earth to Reid_?"

Reid's eyes darted around the visitation room, it was too crowded, too risky. "I don't - think." He was stuttering and white as a sheet. "I think you should talk to -"

"Reid, don't tell me to call your lawyer! I'm trying to help you." He wasn't going to doubt Reid knew something, his behavior change was textbook for a...a guilty man. "Why are you lying to me?"

"I'm not."

"You just changed your story. You said you didn't know her, now you're acting like you've seen a ghost. What's going on? What are you not telling me?"

"It's true, I never met her. She was a PhD student working with Dr. Ramos for her degree in Neuroscience."

"That's a lot of info on someone you've never met before." Almost verbatim info that Garcia had given him. _Please tell me you read her books._ Morgan wasn't sure he could stomach any more incriminating evidence. Reid was biting his lips, his eyes darting between Morgan and the photo. "Go on." There was no doubt that Reid was withholding something.

"She was supposed to meet Dr. Ramos and I for a meeting at my mom's facility in Houston. She never showed up. Dr. Ramos suspected foul play but there was no evidence. After that, I met her in Mexico. I used my personal passport to attract less attention at the border. I was trying to keep her safe. For all the good that did."

"When was this?"

"October 17, 3 pm. When and where did she go missing?"

Morgan closed his eyes in defeat. Reid could not have given him a worse answer. "She left campus at 2 on the 17th, it's less than 10 miles from your mom."

Reid looked away, slumped in defeat. "So my alibi is that I was meeting the OTHER woman I was accused of killing. The jury will love that." Just what he needed, another nail in his coffin.


	8. Chapter 8

September 5, 2017

Once upon a time going to court had been simply a line on a job description: show up, watch the defense team try to lie their way out and cheer for the prosecution. Before this year, the worst that had ever happened to Spencer Reid in a courtroom was to fall asleep. Morgan had drawn fake tattoos on his arm to teach him a lesson. Now? Well Court was still a snooze fest, but instead of tattoo drawings, he 'woke up' to this nightmare.

 _Was that a pre-arranged signal to kill my mother?_ Reid couldn't tear his eyes away from his own face on the courtroom TV screen. He looked almost...deranged. _Tell me the truth!_

 _I am!_ Cat's angry voice shouted back. _You want to know the truth? Your mother is an Alzheimer's ridden moron who is getting dumber by the day and if she dies it's your fault!_

He put his head in his hands. He didn't need to see himself throw the table across the room or to see himself advancing on Cat, pinning her to the wall. His hands around her throat.

 _I'm going to kill you._ His own soft voice echoed in the empty courtroom. The tape froze and Reid finally looked up, facing the disgust in the eyes of the prosecutor. He kept eye contact, determined not to cower like a kicked dog.

The prosecutor finally turned his piercing gaze towards the bench. "This, Your Honor, is the video clip that Miss Duncan is arguing to withhold from the trial. Solid proof of the defendant's uncontrollable rage, a part of his character which the jury deserves to see."

"Your Honor, my client kept himself composed for nearly an hour while his mother was held hostage. It was not until he thought Miss Adams had ordered the murder of his mother that he reacted in such an uncharacteristically violent manner. I would ask that the Court deem the tape inadmissible after my client says 'I'm done playing games. Good-bye, Cat'. The defense also asks the Court to order a paternity test for the unborn child of Catherine Adams."

Speaking of nightmares, Cat hadn't stopped _looking_ at him...coyly from the Witness Stand. She probably would have tried something more overt if it hadn't been for the warning in the angry eyes of her attorney.

"Objection! This claim is utterly ridiculous as is the fact that my client was transferred hundreds of miles in her present condition to perpetuate this...fantasy."

"Fantasy?" Reid couldn't help himself. "Is that what you call -?"

"Dr. Reid, it is your lawyer's job to speak on your behalf. Speak out of turn again and you'll be held in contempt."

Fiona's hand on his shoulder stopped him from rising and approaching the bench.

"Your Honor, the defense has even said that the defendant did not visit my client in prison prior to the pregnancy test results. Furthermore, the notion that a paternity test could lead to acquittal is..."

"Preposterous, I believe is the word my client used when the claim was first made on video." Fiona turned to him, barely moving her lips. "Stop it!"

"What's the matter, Spency? I thought you you wanted little Maeve to be yours." Cat was smiling...sweetly.

Reid forced himself to look away from Cat, his fists clenched under the table. Don't react, don't react. Half of his brain was itching to react, contempt charge be damned. What were they going to do? Throw him in a double jail cell? He was already in solitary, but the rational part of his brain knew better than to take Cat's bait. He had to hold on to what little credibility was left to him.

"Your Honor, it is Miss Adams who made the claim not my client. When her claim is proven to be true it will show that someone else had access to my client's semen. This would prove ample opportunity for another person to commit this crime. Withholding such evidence would be to violate my client's constitutional right to a fair trial."

Reid didn't envy the judge. He looked like a migraine patient. "With regards to Video Exhibit B, it will be entirely inadmissible."

That had to be the first time there were three calls of protest from the occupied tables: the defense, the prosecution and the witness' attorney.

Fiona couldn't believe it. She had lost more than one night of sleep over this damned tape. On the one hand, Cat mentions sending Lindsey to Mexico to dose Reid and it becomes apparent that she had inside information. On the other hand, there was -well, that. To strike it all out, would be a loss to both sides of the case.

The judge held his hand up, swiftly silencing the courtroom. Even a pin drop could have been heard with a loud echo. "It is my understanding that this tape will not in any way further the search for truth and may even cause further confusion amongst the jury. On the one hand, you have Miss Adams claiming to have _somehow_ impregnated herself with the defendant's baby. On the other, you have the defendant claiming paternity belongs to a deceased guard who is therefore unavailable for cross-examination. Furthermore, the defendant's words and actions are called into question due to the safety concern for his mother. I will, however, allow Miss Adams to be presented as a witness for the defense and the paternity test will be ordered by the Court to be submitted within 24 hours of the baby's birth. Therefore, with the identification of the first victim confirmed, this case will move into federal jurisdiction. Court is dismissed."

* * *

Would this day never end? Back at the County Jail, Spencer went through the motions, walking alongside Timmons in a daze. His brain may have been misfiring, but he had NOT missed the slightly panicked look in Fiona's wide eyes as he'd been led out of the courtroom again. He'd have to stop looking back. He always hoped for some encouraging body language but all he'd ever gotten was gawking stares that were burned into his retinas.

"What's going on?" he asked, as soon as the door clanged shut behind them. "I'm not going to FCI Milan? Please say no. I can't go there. I can't."

Fiona's color seemed to have seeped out of her pores. "I specifically put in a recommendation against FCI Milan and for protective custody."

"I can't go to Milan, I can't!" He wouldn't make it out of there alive.

"Spencer, are you listening? I said that I -"

"Put in the recommendation? Yeah, I heard. We both know what the BOP's opinion -"

"I know you're worried, but we can't do anything else about that. Right now, though, I need your attention. We have more pressing matters to discuss. Take a seat."

He did, but that didn't stop him from tapping his feet and drumming his fingers. He had way too much anxiety to just sit still. What could be more urgent than impending death threats?

Fiona eyed the nervous ticks. She would have to address that, such behavior would send alarm bells to a jury but she'd have no chance of training that behaviour out of him today. "We've got a problem."

Well apparently this was going to be a 'state the obvious meeting'. "The case is federal, of course we have a problem." A posthumous acquittal meant almost nothing to him. "Shaw is going to have my head on a silver platter."

"That's not the problem. Well, turning federal is, but for a _different_ reason. State and Federal laws differ widely."

She was stalling, this couldn't be good. "Get to the point."

"The point, Spencer," she paused momentarily. "The federal prosecutor is offering a new plea bargain. You don't need to make a decision today -"

"I'm not interested."

"Spencer, be reasonable!"

"I am! I'm NOT guilty. That's my plea, and that's final!" He had some very colorful descriptions for what she could do with that damned paper, but kept his lips pursed in a thin angry line. She was after all, just trying to help him. "What makes you think I'd consider it for a second? I didn't take any of the others. I didn't even take 2-5 years."

"As your attorney, it is my job to make sure you have the tools to make the right choices and you can't know the right one, until you know what those choices are!"

Point well made. He put out his hand, if only to give it fake consideration. He read the paper in two seconds. This had to be a joke. He gave her a raised eyebrow in response unable to articulate...anything intelligible.

"I know it's a lot of time, Spencer."

He gaped at her like a fish out of water until he found his voice - high pitched and terrified. " _What kind of a deal is this?_ " He looked at the paper again, hoping his eyes had been playing tricks on him. 20 to life?

"It's the kind a defendant is given...to avoid the death penalty."

 _"The what?"_

"Michigan doesn't have the death penalty, but the federal courts do. Since this is your third accusation plus post mortem mutilation - they could allege special circumstances."

"You think they will? You think they're going to try to _execute me_?" Flash backs to Sarah Jean Dawes assaulted his brain. Could he really meet a fate such as hers? To walk into a death chamber knowing he'd done nothing to deserve it?

"Spencer, sit down."

When had he stood?

Fiona held his shaking hands in her own."We can't know for certain yet - it would have to be approved by the Attorney General's office, but we do have to consider it which means there will also be additional considerations to make for jury selection."

How she could be thinking so far ahead was...beyond his comprehension. She did have a point, though. It would be nice to have a jury full of Gideon's type. He had been certain of her innocence before anyone else had even considered it.

"I'm sorry, I -" He was a stuttering, rambling mess of a man who would probably collapse as soon as he stood.

"Don't be. You have nothing to be sorry for, Spencer." Fiona folded her hands in her lap, resuming a professional distance. This case...his case had tugged at her heart more than any other but she could not allow emotions to cloud her judgement. _Someone_ had to keep a clear head and that someone was certainly not Spencer right now. "Promise me you'll consider it."

Could he? Could he actually plead guilty? "Is it an exploding offer? Like the others?"

"No, there won't be a federal arraignment. You've already been denied bail. You have until jury selection begins so that gives you -" she took the papers back, flipping to the second page - "until November 23rd. Once a federal judge is assigned, I'll ask for a postponement if needed. When is the baby due, again?"

*"December 15."

"That's cutting it close. I'll try to get it postponed until the new year, no one wants to be in Court during the holidays anyway. That'll be time enough for the test result to be finalized." Fiona turned around, ready to discuss case strategy only to find Reid with his head in his hands. "Alright, that's enough for now." His head wasn't in the proper order to discuss case strategies. "You go get some rest. If you can. Guard."

* * *

Luke Alvez slammed a cardboard box on the metal table, startling the shackled occupant in the opposing seat.

Shaw grinned and laughed. A rare, humorless laugh. "Come now, Agent Alvez. You're trying to scare me and it won't work."

Alvez smiled back at him, mirroring his body language with the exception that his confidence wasn't faked and he didn't look like a shadow of his former self. Despite his arrogance, Alvez couldn't help but notice the bruises decorating Shaw's face. "Have something to be scared about, Shaw?"

"Not at all."

Alvez took a seat. Digging into the box, he pulled out a file folder only to return it and pull out one twice as thick. "So, how has Milan been treating you?"

"I get by."

"Hmm. I see you've met the Brahtva brothers."

"My lawyer said you had a deal for me? Or are you playing me for the fool? Because if this is merely a bait and switch -"

"No trick. You can help us out a lot. We need information."

"I'm no snitch. I'm done playing your games. Guard!"

"Not even for your son?"

Shaw stopped, mid step, turning sharply to Alvez. He motioned the guard back, resuming his seat. "Say what?" he asked as the door closed again. "You threatening my boy?"

"Not at all. Quite the contrary. You give me what I want and I will have your transport ready."

"Back to Millburn?" The disbelief in his wide eyes was almost palpable.

"To the East Coast, yes. Millburn, no. The warden wouldn't want you reopening old drug channels. But you would be near your son again, near enough get your weekly visits back."

"Why? You took him away, why would you be so willing to give him back?"

"The thing is Shaw, we have a suspect on our hands, and you're going to help us take him down." He pulled a photo from the top of his large file folder.

The picture was of a very familiar man on a surveillance camera. Shaw sat back down, his eyes wide. "Joel Matthews?"

To the untrained eye, the surprise seemed genuine but Alvez wasn't untrained. He had him, and he knew it. "Know him?"

"Yeah, we worked together at the FBI office in Detroit." Denying such a well documented fact would have been extreme folly. "But I don't know what he's been up to lately. Haven't seen him in months." Alvez could practically see the wheels turning in his head.

"We know he visited you in Millburn quite often. He's the only one of your Bureau friends from Detroit to do so, in fact."

"See who's got the better friends. You didn't come once to see Reid. He told me so, after our 'deal'."

Alvez ignored the slight, choosing instead to pull two photos out of his case file. The first one was of a young brunette woman holding a red and white cooler in hand. "Have you ever seen her?"

"Can't say that I have."

"Her name is Lindsey Vaughn. She's a hit woman for the drug cartels who has pled guilty to 11 murders."

"If she's plead guilty, why do you need my help?"

"Because she's got an accomplice who is causing us a lot of trouble."

"I don't know -" Shaw's voice trailed off, his eyes wide and Alvez knew he had him. It was a photo of Joel Matthews now holding the portable red cooler in hand, standing right next to Lindsey Vaughn.

"This was taken at the Brownsville boarder crossing on February 15, 4 pm and before you say it's coicidence, we have a record of him calling her cell phone 10 minutes before this was taken. So either you tell me everything you know about Joel Matthews and get your son back, or you stay silent and get charged as an accomplice in which case, you can forget about parole in 13 years."

"You can't charge me! I didn't do anything -"

"Withholding information is called 'interfering with a criminal investigation' and protecting a criminal is called being an accomplice. So, yes, I could. He visited you in Millburn prison the very next day and I think you were all too...eager to hear what he'd been up to."

Shaw looked up from the photo, suspicion and doubt clouding his eyes, even as a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Why? You took my son away from me. What could you want that badly that you'd be willing to give him back?"

"This about justice, nothing more or less."

"No. If that was true, you'd be questioning Matthews yourself." His face lit up in a maniacal, almost gleeful smile. "Reid's in trouble again...and you're trying to get me out of here before he gets transferred in."

Alvez said nothing. He handed him a notebook and pen. "It's time for you to decide where your loyalties lay. Do you want to stay in here with Reid and Brahtva brothers forever? Or would your rather keep your release date and reclaim your weekly visits with your son? The choice is yours."

* * *

Spencer Reid tried to get comfortable, leaning back in his seat on the prisoner transport flight. It was true, what Matt Simmons had said aboard the jet during his 'extradition transport' that had broken every rule in the book. Once you had the best, it was hard to go back. What he wouldn't give to stretch out on the sofa with a blanket. This plane was like a cattle car compared to the jet.

A series of cat calls and whistles broke his train of thought. The female inmates were boarding, some of them were treating the aisle like a catwalk as if the various prison uniforms and handcuffs were the latest fashion. He shook his head as one of them sat next to him. "Ma'am." Better be polite or she could make this trip even worse than he anticipated. Never doubt that things could get worse. That was the one thing this year had taught him. Rock bottom had a creepy basement.

*PS. I know the show says Nov 15, but that's exactly 9 months after Reid's arrest. J.J. said the timeline matches Cat's claim that the baby is Reid's but as we all know a full term 40 week pregnancy is 10 months. The show writers even know that, they got it right in the 'Angel Maker' episode.


	9. Chapter 9

September 5-6, 2017

He leaned his head back against the driver seat, mentally cursing _them._ All of them, the day he ever met them...or anything to do with them, really. He plastered a smile on his face as he stepped out of the SUV and into the frigid cold air of the Michigan night. How in the world had this gotten so messed up? One minute he'd been at the bar with his brother-in-law and then...this.

He walked into the office, taking no notice of the scowls as Marshal Keller looked up from his stack of papers, his hand full of caffeine and sugar. "Late night, man? That's rough."

"Late night behind the wheel is even rougher. Got to take this one cross-country last minute." He hooked a thumb behind his shoulder at the holding cell.

He spared little more than a second towards the cell, determined not to make eye contact with the woman who was the source of his fury. "I might be able to take her off of your hands."

"I appreciate the offer, but there are protocols -"

"Seriously man, you can save me a lot of time and money on a plane ticket home."

Marshall Keller lowered his glasses, scrutinizing the newcomer. "You expect me to hand over a convicted killer to you -"

He flashed his credentials. "This one's got ties to the FBI. I'm taking over her transport."

The Marshall shrugged. "Sign here. Anything happens, it's on you. She's out of my hands."

He stood back as the Marshall signed off on the paperwork and removed the prisoner from the holding cell. She really had no poker face, grinning like a maniac...or maybe she wanted to get him in trouble. That seemed to be her specialty.

He took her arm perhaps more roughly than was needed as he steered her towards the patrol car and all but shoved her in the back seat.

* * *

Catherine Adams smiled sweetly at her escort. Perhaps her charm was wearing off, prison uniforms didn't leave much room for flattery and he looked...pissed. "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?"

"You could say that!" he growled, his eyes on the road, fists clenching the wheel. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"Don't even start!"

He clenched the wheel even tighter. He gave her a strained smile while he counted to ten. _"_ Why in the Hell would you agree to testify for Reid, hmm? Are you trying to ruin the case? This was YOUR IDEA, remember?"

Cat slouched back in the back seat, insomuch as the shackles would allow. She stroked her stomach. "I don't expect you to understand, Agent -"

The softness in her voice took him by surprise, but not so much as her words. "Oh, so we're back to that now, are we? I'm just another petty agent you can twist in circles, well that's just lovely."

"Why do you care, anyway, _Joel_?"

Joel Matthews cranked the heat up, taking a sip of his now-cold coffee. "Why do I care?" he bit back, taking a precious second to glare at her smirking face. "I'm your accomplice, Cat! What are you going to do, rat me out? That's it, isn't it?"

"Don't worry, I won't rat you out."

"And I'm just supposed to what...take you at your word?"

"Doesn't look like you have much of a choice, now, does it?" She laughed, the sick maniacal way that only a bitch could. "I have an idea. Let's...play a game. Makes the time go by a lot faster...believe you me, I know A LOT about passing time." Catherine Adams pressed the side of her face up against the ice cold window of the patrol car. For the first time in a long time, she smiled at the sight of the open water...freedom was just beyond the horizon.

"No."

"Now the rules -" she continued as if she hadn't heard.

"I said 'No,' Cat! You don't get it! This is NOT a game! You can not screw up people's lives like -"

A pointed glance and narrowed eyes shut him up.

 _like that._ He finished silently. Reid's messed up life right now was just as much his fault as it was hers at this point.

"First of all, you can stop the innocent act. I know that's not you! So, I may have failed geography in Middle School but I could have sworn that Michigan was NOT a coastal state, which means that there body of water is a Great Lake, and we should be going north, not south."

"I can't tell you where we're going. You know the rules."

"Come on, Joel, admit it, you're here to break me out, right? We're going to live up with the eskimos and play hockey for the rest of our days. Why else would you come in and take over my transport, solo...which I KNOW is against regulation. So come on. Turn around and gets us the hell out of here!"

"You think it's that easy?"

"Well, yeah, get some fake IDs and a suitcase in the car...fake extradition papers at the least. By the time the DOC has a clue, we'll be long gone."

"No, you see if I was going to extradite you then the RCMP would have to take over, so that won't work and you are in my custody so taking you across the border would make me a fugitive...and I'd be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life. So. NO!"

Cat's eyebrows disappeared into her hairline. "You're kidding me? You're already a fugitive."

"No! No! I'm your accomplice. There's a difference."

"Oh, some difference. You're still a criminal."

"A criminal with a badge, which I am not going to surrender without a fight. By your plan I might as well put a ribbon on it and hand it over to the Mounties!"

"Mounties?" she sounded incredulous. "If that's some kind of Cowboy joke, I -"

"The RCMP - Royal Canadian Mounted Police. I wouldn't have jurisdiction in Canada and I'm not keen on leaving a trail of bodies - especially when we can't pin them on Reid." Apparently there was a downside to someone being arrested for your crimes. "So, I'm going to do MY JOB. That's it!"

"So why do it, then? Why take over the transport if you're not going to help a girl out?"

He averted his eyes from the rear view mirror and the border crossings signs which quickly disappeared into the horizon. "It won't work, you know. No one would believe you, you've got nothing on me. Just heresay." He ran over the case files in his head again...no mention of a witness dumping bodies. Surely the Bureau would have come for him by now if they suspected anything.

"Then why are you so scared?"

"I'm not scared!

 _Yes, you are!_ If he hadn't been driving, he'd put his head in his hands and groan. But he was driving and he wasn't at home...he was stuck in the car with the devil's mistress for the next seven hours, trying to do damage control before his life completely derailed. _Kill her!_ This wasn't the first time the thought had occurred to him. How had he gotten involved in this mess? Oh, right, Lindsey had threatened to rat him out as a customer, and one favor had become another and another...what he wouldn't give to be free of them!

Just do it! It wouldn't be that hard. Cut her loose and then claim self defense? That might actually qualify as poetic justice ...after all she'd killed plenty of unborn babies. Why should hers be any different? He shook his head. He couldn't do that, couldn't kill a pregnant woman. Shaw had done that and it had...eaten away at him. He was a shadow of his former self. Maybe it was prison, maybe it was guilt, but he had no desire to find out. _Just stick to the case. Everything will work out in the end._ "It's Lindsey again, isn't it? Your precious _kitten_! She's got something to do with this!"

Cat said nothing, choosing instead to stroke her stomach and stare mournfully out of the window. If he didn't know any better, he'd say she was planning -something. Woe betide anyone who came between Cat and her messed up, delusional...Except she wasn't delusional. She was a mastermind, which meant she had SOMETHING in mind. There was something in this for her to gain...there had to be. Cat would never give any help like this for free - but the thought of the FBI agreeing to do a deal with her was - STOP IT. There it was again - the cyclical thinking that had kept him up all night since she'd been transferred to Michigan in the first place. Cat was after something - and she was holding her silence.

 _You have NOTHING to worry about!_ Joel tried again to console himself. Worst case scenario: Cat rats him out, there was nothing against him. Nothing at all. Border Patrol pictures maybe, he'd driven cross-country to dispose of the bodies, but there were no cameras in the woods. At most he'd be suspended for an investigation. Nothing life changing...as for Cat's testimony, it wasn't like she had been there for anything. Reid's lawyer was grasping at straws, plain as day. Whatever Cat was planning, he was safe.

* * *

Joel Matthews had never been so happy to see prison walls and wire fences as he was at that exact moment. Driving through the gate felt, oddly liberating. He would be free of her finally. He opened her door, pretending to be a gentleman in a performance which was almost comical "Welcome to FCI Greenburg, Illinois. Otherwise known as: Home sweet home."

"Very funny!" Cat bit back, mad at herself for having gotten her hopes lifted for nothing. She stood obediently, scowling at his cheerful smile as the next officer reviewed her paperwork. After a curt verbal confirmation that all was in order, she was ushered towards a van of new arrivals and Joel disappeared from her sight.

She walked slowly behind the nervous local inmates, many of whom were cowering at the sight of the guard towers and batons, but not Cat. The wheels in her head kept turning and turning...until it just _stopped._

"Break it up, inmates!" The barked order drew Cat's attention to the adjacent prison yard. One particular inmate dropped his arm from what appeared to be a choke hold and laid on the ground as ordered...a very familiar inmate. Cat's grin could not be contained.

"Well hello, Spency!"

* * *

Spencer Reid pulled the knit cap down over his ears. The fabric was itching his newly shaved head, but that particular annoyance paled in comparison to getting pneumonia in prison...or the more immediate problem right under his nose. Sure enough, as he stepped out into the bitter cold of the prison yard, he was not surprised at all to find that the races were separated almost as if the segregation had been ordered. Almost. Most were either running or hitting the gym equipment in groups of three or more. Almost all of them were grouped by race, except for a small group of older inmates playing cards and chess at the tables. He took a seat on the cold hard cement of the walkway, well away from the yellow marching lines. Perfect for both surveillance and staying out of trouble. He wasn't about to assume that bleechers and benches were free territory.

Keep your head down and stay out of trouble. That was going to be his mantra this time. A fresh new start..a clean slate.

A quick call to the team after breakfast had informed him that he NOT incarcerated with anyone who would recognize him from a case. The relief her words had provided was so profound that it felt as though another weight had fall off of his shoulders. He leaned his head back against the stone wall and allowed himself a momentary luxury of closing his eyes, something he never would have thought about in Millburn.

He was brought out of his reverie by heavy footfalls surrounding him. He opened his eyes to see himself surrounded by three men - each sporting a broad smile which might convince a newcomer, but Reid could see the predatory gleam in their eyes.

"Good morning, gentlemen," he greeted as he climbed back up to his feet. A bit of respect, even apathy, might just throw them off of their game. "Great day to be alive, isn't it?" His chipper smile belying the terror that lurked underneath as he turned his back towards the yard. It was a frightening move, but necessary to avoid being pinned against the wall.

Taking note of the strategic move, the leader of the group chuckled. "You've done time before, I take it."

He bit back his usual reply. Nothing put a target on an inmate's back faster than a claim of innocence. "What makes you say that?"

"A newbie would never be smiling or closing his eyes. I'm Miles. This is Stewart and that's Williams. So what's your name, boy?"

"Reid."

So what makes you so happy to be in FCI Greensburg, Reid?"

"I've got friends in Chicago." Don't mess with me. No need to mention that he'd feared death threats or worse in Milan.

"Think your so-called friends are going to travel 8 hours total to come see you?"

"Considering I got visitation in Michigan and Washington, I'd say yes." The thought of seeing his best friend again brought a rare smile to his face. Now that he'd gotten through the humiliation, he found that he was actually looking forward to a visit.

Miles looked begrudgingly impressed. "Damn, you've been down for some time, then? How much have you got left?"

"I don't count the days." He had started out like that, but it got tedious and aggravating...and everyone had advised against it. Small wonder, they were right.

"So what did you do on the outside?" Stewart interrupted before Miles could continue the 'interrogation'.

"Professor." Guest lecturing had to count for something.

"Professor of what?"

"Criminology."

The word was met by a round of laughter. "Looks like the good professor needs to go back to school." Miles made a move to pull Reid closer, but Reid, anticipating this, ducked under Miles. He threw both of his arms around Miles' throat as he backed into the wall.

Williams and Stewart looked every bit ready to rip Miles out of his grasp, which Reid tightened until he heard Miles gag slightly, clawing at his captors arms, but Reid kept his grip firm. "Just so you know, whatever you've got going here: gangs, contraband..anything like that? I want NOTHING to do with it! Leave me alone, I leave you alone! Got it!"

A shrill whistle sounded from behind. "Break it up, inmates!"

Reid released his arm and dropped to the ground, his eyes never leaving his fellow inmates who followed suit. "Got it?"

"Yes!" The round of whispered replies was enough for Reid, who sealed his mouth at the guard's approaching. He stood, hands behind his back without a fight, a small twisted smile tugged at the corner of his mouth when a familiar voice wiped it away.

"Well hello, Spency!"

 _What the- ?_ Only one person called him that. He turned sharply in the guards' grip, his neck practically on swivel as he caught a glimpse of the speaker before disappearing into the building. _Oh hell no!_


	10. Chapter 10

September 6, 2017

Reid had never been one to criticise the fact that he was the only person who could read at lightning speed, but Counselor Miller seemed to be taking his sweet time with his file. He supposed he should not have cared, after all, time didn't exactly have the same value in prison. There were no killers on the loose with minutes or even seconds to find the victim alive. No, all of the killers were _here_ \- and if he had to wait one more minute with his hands cuffed behind his back -

"Inmate Reid!"

Reid managed to keep his poker face up as he looked the glaring counselor in the eye. Two could play at this game.

"You've been here for 12 hours - I've been here for ten years. I know what you're trying to do. Thankfully - or unfortunately, for you - there was no injury to Inmate Miles, which means no disciplinary hearing and therefore no _disciplinary segregation_."

Well there went his chance to get out of the dormitory cell block and into protective custody.

"I've never even heard of a pre-trial federal agent in the general prison population which means you have some serious enemies in Washington. Enemies, I don't want to meet. However, politics aside, we here at Greensburg take the security of our inmates as a top priority, so if you and Miles had any problems on the outside - ?"

"No, we've never met before."

"No gang affiliations?"

"No."

"I see. Well you're still in one piece so you obviously knew to keep your mouth shut."

"I told them I was a professor. I've done guest lecturing in the past so it wasn't a total lie." _Careful._ There was a day when he would have been caught in a lie of any kind in two seconds flat.

"You better get that flawed logic out of your head before trial. Juries don't exactly like a half-truth."

 _The whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help me God._ Indeed. Reid said nothing, pursing his lips in a tight seal as he considered how he was going to survive another day. He'd been banking on being threatening enough to qualify for P.C. without the need for poison or self-harm, not that he currently had the tools available for either.

"Well if you meet anyone here who you _specifically_ consider a threat to your safety, I need to know -"

"There is, actually. Catherine Adams - I saw her arrive when I was in the yard."

"The women are in their own prison on the other side of the property. She won't be a problem. - "

"You're wrong! She bribed a guard to kidnap my mom! _"_ Reid insisted vehemently as the guard pulled him to his feet and led him out of the office.

* * *

Spencer Reid had been in many dangerous situations in his life, but he was convinced, there was no more dangerous place on the planet than a holding cell. He knew none of the men surrounding him and had no creds, no back-up: nothing. Back-up of course could come in the form of guards, but he wouldn't be willing to place a bet on it.

Speaking of bad bets.

"Long time, no see, Spency! Did you miss me?"

CAT! The damned...bitch. _Ignore her. Ignore her._ Thankfully she was in the neighboring holding cell, but an ocean apart would not have been enough space between them. Oh how he missed solitary confinement, psychological torture though it was.

"You know him?" It was Miles, poking his nose in where it didn't belong from the holding cell on the other side of him.

"Know him?" Cat scoffed. "He's my Baby Daddy."

"Well your Baby Daddy tried to choke the life out of me!"

Reid didn't like the smile that lit up Cat's face in his peripheral vision. She looked almost...proud, but it was gone in an instant. "He does have quite the temper, doesn't he? But he wasn't always like that, were you, sweetie?"

 _Sweetie?_ Oh she was milking this for all it was worth. He balled his hands into fists, biting his lip. He was aching to retaliate and put the story straight, but he knew better than to discuss his open case with strangers. Not that anyone here would believe the truth anyway. _She's not worth getting angry at. She's not worth getting angry at..._

"You should have seen him on our first date. It was so romantic. We went to a nice restaurant, he brought me a rose like a perfect gentleman. Seems like a lifetime ago, doesn't it, Spency?"

It sure did, almost felt like an out-of-body, hellish reincarnation to be more accurate. _Get me out of here!_ He walked up to the door, peering between the bars, hoping to see a guard coming his way. Meanwhile, Cat was _enjoying_ the attention the other men were giving her. Just what she needed...an audience.

"All it took was that one date, and I knew he was going to be my man!"

"I'm not your man!"

Reid clung to the bar, trying to find a strategic position as a large man with neck tattoos invaded his personal space and cracked his knuckles. "I ought to teach you some manners, boy! That's no way to talk to your Baby Mama!"

"I don't even know it is, could be Wilkins' kid." How long did it take to review a housing assignment, anyway? He'd been here for what? Three hours?

"I think he's learned his lesson haven't you, Spency? Although, I have _other_ stories I could tell if you would rather - like the last time you visited me in prison! I'm sure the men would _love_ that one."

Reid gulped, audibly, a mistake he realized a millisecond too late. The last thing he needed was for the other inmates to find out he'd tried to choke a pregnant woman, especially in front of a man offering to beat him up. "No!" He shook his head, emphatically. "That's -"

Cat hadn't ratted him out as an agent yet. He was more than a little shocked by that, but as Fiona kept telling him _Don't question your blessings._ Diversion, diversion, must find diversion. "Where did you get those contact lenses?" Really, Reid, you couldn't think of anything better?

"Inmate Reid!"

Reid turned his attention the officer unlocking the holding cell. Finally. "Right here, sir." He turned his back to the bars for the handcuffs and hurried out of the cell as fast as allowed.

* * *

It struck Reid as odd that he no longer cringed at the sound of bars and locks. In fact, it sounded a bit comforting as he surveyed his new housing assignment: Pod D. It was lone large day room of payphones and tables surrounded by a single guard station and two tiers of cells. He quickly found Cell 18 as listed on his new wristband, but decided not to go in just yet. There would be time enough for that later. Cat couldn't communicate with anyone in here. He was safe, for the moment at least. He collapsed into a plastic patio chair as he picked up the payphone. Waiting, hoping..."REID! OMG! DO NOT DO THAT TO ME AGAIN!"

Reid held the phone an inch from his ear, glaring at it.

"Boy Wonder, you need to call EVERY DAY! Do you hear me? Every day...I was so worried. I thought -"

"Garcia, I was in Court all day yesterday and then on an airplane. I haven't exactly - "

"AIRPLANE?"

"It's called a transfer - to Illinois. Greensburg to be exact."

"That's not right, why haven't I -"

"If my lawyer hasn't told you yet, it's because I doubt she knows yet." He hoped she got the message that she wasn't _supposed_ to know. Reminding her that she was being recorded would be a glaring alarm to the guards listening in. Maybe he should have called Emily. "Don't worry, Emily checked the BOP website this morning, _I'm safe._ " The words felt foreign to his lips but the sigh of relief from Garcia was enough to stop him from mentioning Cat. Part of his brain had been filled with a desire to report this to the team - but what could they do? Nothing. If his time at Milburn had taught him anything it was that he was on his own. For all of their compassion and desire to help, there was in actuality very little they could do.

"So none of the old unsubs are in with you -?"

"No." All of the criminals they'd arrested in Illinois were thankfully in state prisons. "But there is something you can do to help."

"Anything!"

"Cat volunteered to be witness for me. I know, it sounds crazy...like Munchausen's crazy." Except that Munchausen's Syndrome was normally people harming those they loved so they could appear to come to the rescue. There was no love anywhere in this case...so why the thought of rescue? She wanted something, but she hadn't said what exactly. "I need you to find her father."

"Reid, I already -"

"I know, I know we tried but we need to try again. Cat doesn't exactly have much credibility and she has nothing to lose." What was a perjury charge to someone in for life? The fact that his freedom relied on Cat's integrity was - insane. "The only thing she wants is her father -"

"- and Lindsey," Garcia added. "What if she wants to make a deal to have Lindsey transferred to Waseca with her?"

That was not a bad idea. "Okay so say Lindsey agrees to a plea deal to confess to the Ramos case in exchange to a transfer to -" How on earth could he handle both of them - but Garcia didn't know -. "That could work. The plea deal being contingent upon truthful testimony." That way Lindsey would only arrive here once he left.

"So they would both need to cooperate in order for the deal to go through."

It sounded wonderful except... "It won't work. Cat won't trust me, not after I lied at the restaurant. So if I right that wrong -"

"Reid, you didn't owe her -"

"If I right that wrong -" he interrupted, not wanting to discuss moral obligations to serial killers, not when his time was almost out, "- then she will have more reason to trust that the second part of the deal would go through." If he gave them everything at once, there was no carrot at the end of the stick, nothing to keep them in line. A siren-like noise echoed throughout the cellblock. That could only mean one thing. "Find him, find Daniel Adams. I've got go, bye."

* * *

A long case done, the team was flying home and yet Garcia couldn't leave the office. There were only so many ways to fall so far off the grid that not even she could find a cyber bread crumb to follow. Since Daniel Adams didn't have a death certificate, he had either taken a new name or he was unidentified in a morgue somewhere.

Wanting to assume that not all hope was lost, she began piecing everything together from the time he returned to the States in 1988. From there he had killed his wife for reasons unknown - and had done a way too short stint in state prison for manslaughter. He'd plea bargained out for 5- 10 years and had somehow gotten out in 3. That got her as far as 1992. He'd gotten out of prison and then what? She had searched through the foster care records only to find - nothing. There was no evidence of Daniel Adams trying to reclaim his little daughter? Why though? Maybe he thought she was still safe with her widowed Grandma Rose who had died a year after taking custody?

Putting aside all potential pity for Cat - who didn't really deserve it after all she'd done - Garcia turned back to her timeline. There were a few arrests for drunk and disorderly conduct, car theft, but nothing spanning more than a six month jail sentence all through the early 90s. He'd remarried a woman named Bethany in 1992 who had died in a drive-by shooting four years later. Why did this sound so - ?

 _Oh you've got to be kidding me_.

She threw her feather-pen down half an hour later scowling at her screens as she picked up her mug of hot chocolate, looking into the all too familiar face of Daniel Adams' most recent driver's license photo from 1996. She wished she was wrong, but it made sense: like the last twisted piece of 5,000 piece jigsaw puzzle. The last few cyber searches of the jail records had confirmed her fears.

After his release from prison, he had joined the mob and been arrested with other members of the Irish mob - including the McCrelin brothers. Only after his new wife was killed in a hit and run, and for the protection of his new daughter, did he agree to become a State Witness.

Daniel Adams had fled to Witness Protection...to become Jack Vaughn.

**** Note:

I should mention that from here on out a lot of my ideas have come from prison documentaries such as the Lock Up series from MSNBC. As for Daniel Adams becoming Jack Vaughn, that was my theory before the finale revealed that Cat and Lindsey as lovers.


	11. Chapter 11

If there were two words to accurately describe prison then boredom would be at the top of the list, second only to fear.

"Gin."

Boredom was winning today. Reid pretended to pout as he laid down his own mismatched cards. It wasn't natural for him to intentionally lose, but it was safer than his cellmate - who easily outweighed him by 50 pounds - thinking he was a cheater. He shuffled the deck. "Best out of three?"

His cellmate - Paul Peterson - shrugged. "Not like you got anything decent to trade. I've already got enough stamps."

There were times when Reid was tempted to use his commissary money. It didn't seem right to let the generosity of his friends go to waste, but then again people couldn't take what he didn't have. One less thing to cause a fight. Besides, prison food wasn't that disgusting - hospital food was worse and he'd survived on that before.

"When do you think they're going to lift the lockdown?" Three days holed up with this virtual stranger was three too many. He was tempted to ask what the man was in for, but knew he'd be in hot water if the question was turned on him. No one wanted to be cellmates with a man accused of a double homicide.

"As long as it takes for the guards to find what they're looking for."

"What exactly would that be?"

"I don't know. You tell me...Officer Reid."

Reid did a double-take, his eyes wide. "Sorry?"

"You heard." Paul smirked. "Only four types of people try to P.C. up with a non-lethal pre-emptive attack on day one. Based on your photos of your godsons taped to the wall of your bunk, I'm going to guess that you're not inclined to hurt kids. You don't exactly seem to have a way with women based on how you treat the mother of your baby -"

"She's not - !"

"I know, I know," Paul soothed his now distraught cellmate, "It's all on Wilkins, right? The point is, you hate her and yet she doesn't seem to be afraid of you. So I doubt you've abused her. You don't have any gang tattoos. So if you're not a child abuser and you're not a wife-beater, and you're not a gang drop out, there's only one other class of inmate who would try to P.C. up on day one. You were a cop on the outside." It wasn't a question.

Reid said nothing, choosing instead to pick up another card. Silence, though, spoke volumes all on its own...almost as much as his visibly shaking hand. Damn, what had Gideon told Max Ryan about unsubs? _Oh come on, we all know they're the best profilers. They admire each others' work._ What would Gideon's advice be right now, anyway?

Paul laughed. "Relax, man. I'm on short-time. I just want to pay my debts and get the hell out of here. I don't want _any trouble_."

Reid breathed a long sigh of relief "Cheers to that!" He raised a plastic cup of apple juice in a mock toast.

"To not causing each other any trouble." Paul knocked his own cup to Reid's then downed the contents in one big gulp. "Might as well tell you, it's not exactly a secret. I was a lifer. Got my sentence commuted down to 20 years. 16 years of credit for time served. Overnight, I was suddenly down to four years and that was over a year ago. My lawyer put in for a security classification revision. I'm hoping to get into a minimum which means no write-ups allowed on my record for the next six months."

"I won't cause you any trouble," Reid assured him. "Gin."

"Good game." He picked up the cards and put them back in his side of the cupboard, sealing it with a swipe of the combination lock. "So the woman who is not -"

"She won't be a problem for you."

"For your sake, I hope she isn't."

* * *

There was only one reason why a guard would pick up an inmate from his cell after dinner, during lockdown. So he wasn't too surprised to see Fiona in the cold, dull, visitation room. He was, however, not prepared to see - "Hotch?" His mouth fell open as the cuffs were removed. "What - how?" It was too dangerous! How could he leave Witness Protection? Leave Jack?

The guard left and Hotch just shook his head, not wanting to believe his eyes. "Reid, you've gotten into some pretty big holes, but this?" He put down the file he'd be reading. "Garcia called me last night. I'm not in the Program anymore, haven't been for almost a month."

"So Scratch isn't a threat anymore?" That didn't make any sense. According to the profile, Scratch would never stop killing unless...

"He's dead." Hotch confirmed. "One of Steven Walker's associates spotted him in Tegucigalpa. So he rejoined the BAP and they got him in Honduras."

"That's great." In another life, this would have called for a celebratory night out...but there was _business_ to attend to. To that point, what was Hotch doing here - ?

"It is," Hotch agreed."

"So you're back on the team?"

Hotch shook his head. "No, Jack needs me more than the Bureau. I know my law experience is in prosecution, not defense, but if you want the extra help - pro bono, I -"

 _"Yes!"_

"You're not even going to ask him about the case?" Fiona shook her head. A defense lawyer always spoke to the client about the case before an agreement.

"I've known Reid for 14 years, he's not a killer or a rapist."

She was going to have to talk to the team again about sharing unauthorized information. "Would you like to hear some good news for a change?"

"I'm listening." Good news sounded like a dream come true.

Hotch took a stack of rubber banded photocopied papers out of his briefcase. "Alvez got Shaw out of Milan for you by offering him a deal. In exchange for incriminating evidence on Joel Matthews, he got a transfer to FCI Cumberland in Maryland, three hours from D.C., but only one hour from his son. The bad news -"

Of course there was bad news, too.

"- is that Matthews has gone off the grid. Cleaned out his bank account, his apartment was vacant when the team went to question him."

"So he's running." Look of a guilty man if there ever was one.

"We've issued a subpoena," Fiona added. "So when he doesn't show to Court at least there will be a valid reason to arrest him when he shows his face again."

Who knew how long that could be? "Valid reason - what about this?" Reid gestured to the stack of papers. Assuming it was his copy to keep, he would be pouring over it all day and night even if it only took a minute to read.

"That only contained enough evidence for Bureau termination - not arrest. The team was going to use it as leverage against him: 'tell us what you know about Cat and Lindsey and we won't turn you in'."

"Too late for that now."

"Speaking of Cat and Lindsey -"

Reid listened with undivided attention, sucked into the tale that seemed - impossible. "Wait, they're sisters?"

"Half-sisters," Fiona corrected. "Both daughters of Daniel Adams but different mothers."

"So how - ?" How could he gain Cat's trust by reuniting her with her father whom she hated but Lindsey loved? He groaned. This kept getting more and more twisted. Oh dear God. "Do they know?"

"Not yet. I'm going to let Jack break that to them. The girls - Lindsey or Katelyn, to use her proper name - might be more willing to listen to him than us."

"So now we need Jack's help too?" He needed the help of an entire family of psychopaths. "Great."

*** Yes, chapters 12-26 are gone. They are being rewritten. I changed some ideas midway through the story that I should not have so I'm returning it to my original plot line. Since I finally has surgery to help me breathe and I can sleep, my creative brain is making a comeback.


	12. Chapter 12

*Sorry to disappoint. This is being rewritten but it should be a quick rewrite. I got off track and I liked my old plan better.

* * *

If there was anyone who walked the straight and narrow path, it was Aaron Hotchner. That was perhaps why he was glad he was no longer the BAU unit chief. He wasn't going to get caught in the cross-hairs of Alvez twisting a marshall's arm to get a witness protection location. Perhaps he should have been more alarmed at how easy it was to find Jack Vaughn at the local grocery store parking lot of Beloit, Wisconsin. But, he supposed, it was just like old times. His old team had done their share of skirting the law: the Ian Doyle case leapt to the front of his mind. It was no wonder that agents were supposed to stay away from cases to which they had a personal connection. He could only hope that this wouldn't come back to bite Reid.

That wasn't an option.

He poured a little more ketchup on his eggs - Jack was a bad influence - and leaned back in his diner booth and looked out the window. Normally, he would never pick a window seat, but then that would have defeated this whole purpose.

The man had aged, more than Hotch would have expected. The fight was gone out of Jack Vaughn's slumped shoulder and slow gait, his hands twitching near his jacket pocket, where Hotch was sure a firearm was concealed. He was suddenly glad he'd chosen to wear a kevlar vest beneath his casual clothes.

The annoying little door bell announced Jack's entrance as he stopped at Hotchner's booth, leaning up against it as he would a crutch. Maybe it was meant to appear to look intimidating. There was certainly no hint of camaraderie in those exhausted eyes. "Agent Hotchner. What is your team's fascination with me these days? You can't actually think you got away with tailing me for the last three days. You know what kind of attention that can bring?"

Hotch swallowed his food, and pursed his lips, sitting face to face with the man who sent him the most uneasy signals. It went against everything in his brain to treat a killer as a victim. That case had left a knot in his stomach every time he thought about it. Like George Foyet, a deal with the devil had let him walk free for far too long. It was time to right that wrong. "Mr. Adams." His greet was curt and to the point - many points.

Jack Vaughn made no effort to correct him, but he also didn't look worried. Bored, maybe... "So that son a bitch marshall gave you my real name, too, did he?"

Hotch shook his head. "I didn't talk to him. No, this is something we found while investigating your daughter _s_ after what they did to _my agent_." Retired or not, he'd always have a place in his heart and his brain for protecting his team. "

"You mean the kid who was snooping around in my computer and coloring in maps?"

"Can I get you anything, sir?"

The waitress had appeared before Jack had even glanced at the menu. "Just coffee, thank you."

So he didn't deny the daughters, plural. "I mean the one who bravely entered that bathroom without back-up to save your daughter."

"She didn't need saving, I had it under control."

"You call murder as 'having it under control'?"

"You call it murder, I call it self-defense. Tomato, Tomato."

"Your little family kept popping up all over our files. Your daughter Lindsey - or should I say Katelyn Adams - and her older half sister, Catherine Adams."

Whatever Jack had been expecting, that certainly was not it."Kitty?" His eyes were pulled to Cat's photo almost as if it were magnetized. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

"What happened, Jack?" Hotch's uncharacteristically soft voice broke through the reverie. "Why didn't you go back for her when you got out?"

Jack shook his head, turned the photo upside down. "The mob life is no place for a little girl. She was better off with her grandmother."

"Until her grandmother died of a stroke, which landed her in foster care."

The mirad of emotions that passed over Jack's face as he began to realize what that implied, did not go unnoticed by Hotch. Had he really not known? Had he really thought that Catherine had had an idyllic childhood with a doting grandmother?

"Why do you care? I thought we were here to talk about Lindsey."

"Well it seems that Lindsey isn't the only one of your daughters with a vendetta against my agent."

"Occupational hazard, I'd say. What's that got to do with me?"

"You see, we _know_ that Lindsey set up Agent Reid for five felony counts. Three for murder, two for rape. One charge has been dropped, the others are pending trial."

Jack's eyes bugged out of his head. "Looks like she's got him good. I don't think -"

"-that's the way to repay the kindness of coming to her rescue." Hotch finished for him.

"Look, Agent Hotchner, I'm a father first. I'm not going to accuse my child, that's your job. So, if that's what this is about, then I'm out."

"Actually, it's not Agent. Just Mr. Hotchner."

Before Jack could make an ill-placed retirement joke, another man approached their table, blocking the exit.

"Agent Mills, Milwaukee Field Office." He quickly flashed the appropriate badge, only to reach for a set of shiny handcuffs as more agents appeared, blocking each and every exit. "Daniel Adams, you are under arrest for -"

"You can't arrest me! I have immunity!"

"For being an accomplice to the McCrelin brothers, yes. This, however, is for the murder of Ryan Philips." He pulled Daniel's arms behind his back. "While you exercise your right to remain silent, might I suggest reconsidering the plea offer which will be presented to your lawyer. If you can not afford a lawyer, one will be appointed -"

Hotch stood by his truck, reveling in the sight of Jack being escorted to the Beloit Patrol Car.

Mills shut the door and walked back over to Hotch, one hand on the door as Hotch made a move to close it. "You sure, you don't want to join us for old time's sake?"

Hotch shook his head. "I have to get back to my son, maybe in a few days."

"You mean once he realizes that WitSec isn't going to stick their neck out for him like they did last time."

"That's the idea."

"Justice at last. Well, see you then. Drive safe."

"You too." Hotch gave a small wave to Mills, then flipped on his blinker and turned the other way. Justice was still a long way off, but perhaps he could relax just long enough to take the scene route this one time.


	13. Chapter 13

*Another rewritten chapter.

Sometimes peace and quiet were needed, to think and plot and plan. Other times, the noise of the prison day room helped to drown out the voices in his head. The voices which were telling him to rip the bitch apart limb from limb. This place was going to drive him crazy.

 _Don't do anything stupid. Don't do anything stupid._ He took another sip of overly salted soup. Disgusting. Maybe he'd brave the dangers of the cafeteria after all. He knew for a fact it was better than this junk.

He threw the styrofoam bowl in the trash. What to do? He could go to any one of the guards stationed here. Hell he could even go to his Counselor, but he knew all of them would be pointing the finger elsewhere. Not one of them would consider the obvious. He tried to calm down, tried every meditation technique Fiona had taught him in preparation for the anxiety of the courtroom. Nothing was working. All he could see was Cat's gleeful, twisted, smile as she handled the photographs of his godsons. How had she managed to get them off of his bunk wall? Who was she bribing now? And how?

"Must be nice." A soft voice, tinged with envy abruptly caught is attention

Reid turned to his left, towards the neighboring table and a kid with buzz cut blonde hair and a bruised eye that was turning an interesting shade of green. The inmate could not be day over 25. "I'm sorry?"

"You get commissary money and throw it away?"

"My stomach doesn't feel good." Surely throwing food in the trash wasn't going to cause a fight.

"Whatever, man, must be nice to have extra commissary." He turned back to his book, Algebra, judging from the partially obscured cover.

Reid reached for his last purchase: a half-full bag of chips. Cheetos reminded him of J.J. "Name's Spencer. I can share if you like. No charge."

The kid's eyes darted towards the bag. "Scott. Why would you give something away for free, Spencer?"

"Well I can't eat them all right now, and like you said - rude to let it go to waste."

The kid licked his lips, eyeing the bag. Reid was more than happy to let him have it, he had no idea why J.J. had a borderline addiction to the stuff.

Maybe actually solving someone else's problems would get his mind off of his own. "Bit of odd reading material, you've got, Scott"

Scott bit the inside of his cheek, at first Reid turned back to his book, convinced that the kid wasn't going to say anything, but then -"Mom says to think of the future, when I get out. So I'm studying for my GED, but it's hopeless." He slammed the book shut. "Get a job when I get out? Really? Who's going to hire a thief?"

"That's why you're in federal prison? Theft?" That seemed a bit harsh - unless the kid had a juvie track record before he'd turned 18. "Most counties allow for jail time - Never mind. None of my business. Sorry." Theft charges were usually jail time - less than three years. Unless there were mitigating circumstances, but if he kept going he'd sound too much like a cop for an inmate. Besides, something didn't seem right- not that he could do anything about it, whatever it was. Best focus on problems at hand that were solvable. "So, Algebra homework?"

The kid had the gall to roll his eyes? Maybe he didn't want help."You really think you can help me pass that test? Well, I guess beggers can't be choosers." He pushed the book in Reid's direction.

Reid scowled. He wasn't used to being insulted when offering help, but the kid didn't know what he was missing. How many other times had that attitude cost him an opportunity? He had to learn eventually, right? "Just so you know, I've got a PhD in Mathematics, so yes, I can teach Algebra. But I can tell when I'm not wanted and I've got to prep for court." He shut Scott's text book, and purposefully ignoring the kid's slack-jaw face, walked off without a backward glance.

Time to go talk to his Counselor, even if only so he could point an accusing finger when nothing was actually done. But he couldn't just walk up to his Counselor, that would require leaving Pod D. Leaving Pod D did not happen, unless for approved yard time or meal time. This was neither.

A shrill screeching sound echoed from the loudspeakers. Damn, damn, damn.

Reid turned on his heels. If there were only three things in life that were guaranteed. It was death, taxes, and... _count._

Within seconds, every man stood in front of his cell...including Peterson whose keen eyes weren't missing the way Reid's fingers tapped against his leg.

"Everything all right?"

Reid just swallowed a lump in his throat. He knew Peterson didn't actually give a damn, so long as there was no cell drama. That was the problem, though. Stolen items, did indeed equate to just that, as easily as 2+2=4. Forget algebra, this was just basic prison arithmetic.

"Someone stole my photos," he whispered. "The ones on my wall."

Reid could have sworn that a litany of profanity escaped from Peterson's sealed lips. Maybe he'd been an expert ventriloquist on the outside.

The second the guard sounded the all-clear, Peterson all but shoved Reid into the cell, pulling the heavy door shut with the resounding thud that usually made Reid's skin crawl. "You told me you would handle it. Any drama comes into MY cell -"

"I know, it must have been during yesterday's bunk inspection. I was out in the yard, then I went to visitation. It was dark when I got back. I didn't realize they were gone until this morning."

"You checked everywhere?"

"You mean in my one shelf of microwave soup and papers in my locked cabinet, yes. It took me exactly 27 seconds to realize they were gone, but nothing else. I'm just going to go report it to the Counselor now."

"Your Counselor? Miller, right? Same as mine. He's a useless lump. He cares about safety, don't get me wrong, but that paper will be lost. You're better off calling your lawyer, that'll get Miller's attention."

"There's no time! We have to get those pictures back before they get out!" If another one of Cat's accomplices got a hold of one of his precious godsons. He couldn't let his brain linger on such horrifying thoughts.

"Call your lawyer!" Reid's attention snapped back to the present as Peterson waved a hand at his blank stare. " _Call your lawyer!_ I'll ask around, see if anyone knows who did our bunk search yesterday." He muttered some profanity about counselors under his breath and started off towards the poker game. Reid shuttered. Once upon a lifetime ago, he'd loved poker, but he knew - hell, everyone knew - what they were really gambling. Whatever Peterson was up to, Reid was sure he didn't want to know. Best to keep on walking towards the payphones - in the opposite direction.

"Inmate Reid, report for visitation. Reid, you have a visitor."

Reid put down the receiver of the phone, glaring up at the loudspeaker. Visitor? The only visits he got were lawyers, and those weren't at the visitor booths. Except of course for Morgan, but he wouldn't make the trip twice in two days. Well, whoever it was, it would be great to explain this mess in person. Preferably to someone whose child wasn't at stake. He hung up the phone and met the guard at the Pod door, hands spread against the pearly white walls as he was roughly patted down and the chains applied perhaps tighter than necessary.

* * *

Reid kept his back to the wall, inching down the visitation line one step at a time, watching in alarm as inmate after inmate was escorted back to his cells in tears. Visitation was depressing to be sure, but it wasn't that bad. Was it?

Finally next in-line, Reid craned his head over the neighboring 5'5" inmate, hoping to satisfy his curiosity. No such luck. All he could see were dull grey walls. Would it kill someone to put up some pictures, or at least to pain the walls a pretty color. Something, really anything else would do.

"Hopkins, Reid, Chandler."

Reid took his appropriate chair, only to drop his jaw at the most out-of-place picture possible. Across the glass was a very familiar stern face with pink glasses and grey hair. It was the look he'd gotten when his hand was caught in the cookie jar - except, worse. Now she was talking very sternly to the glass, and he wondered momentarily if picking up the receiver was such a good idea.

Knowing it was a lost cause, he slowly picked up phone, hoping his visitor was in a better mood than appearances suggested. "Auntie Ethel? What brings you here?" She couldn't have come cross-country _just_ to see him, right?

"You, Spencer," her voice was dead-panned, her head tilted as she scrutinized the boy who might as well have been her second son. "You brought me here, driving on ice. Spencer, I've never driven on ice before! I never want to be making icy hair-pinned turns against guard-rails ever again."

The thought of his little old auntie, driving down hill on ice made him wince in what would have been comical, had it not been for the 20-car pile up featured on last night's news. "But you made, I'm glad you made it, safe. Just, how did you find out? Garcia called, didn't she?" He knew Garcia wasn't the best at keeping promises and secrets, but just for once?

"No, I don't even know who that is, but no one on your team called."

"Oh no! Mom called you!" It must have been, he thought he'd been careful. "Damn it." Damn it, damn it! After he'd promised her so many times not to leave her again. Maybe she had a nightmare, called Auntie Ethel, only to find out it was true. No, that didn't make sense. Her doctor knew to keep the secret. He'd even sent her letters to J.J. to mail so there would be no prison name on the return address. He'd called her doctor so she wouldn't hear the prison automated message. Something, something hadn't been done right.

"Spencer, _Spencer_!" Auntie Ethel was taping on the glass, any harder and she'd get the guard's attention. He motioned for her to put her hand down. "It wasn't your mom. Your dad called me to ask about seeing you on the news."

 _"Dad_ called?" At least it wasn't his mom, perhaps that secret at least was still safe.

"I couldn't tell which was more surprising: you in prison or hearing from your father for the first time in 25 years."

Reid looked down at the empty half table on his side of the barrier. He really didn't want to spend his visitation replaying that old argument again.

"He cares, Spencer. He's a lawyer and he wants to help. He's just -"

"- a coward. If he wants to help, he can come see me himself."

"You mean that, you won't turn him away in two seconds."

Reid thought about it for a second. "Okay. If Dad really wants to help, tell him that he needs to call my counselor, Miller's his name, and report that my four pictures of my godsons were stolen from my bunk yesterday, possibly during guard inspection." He was going to call Hotch anyway, but it would be interesting to see if his dad followed-through or not.

"Okay, let me get write this...hang on, I left my purse in the trunk. Actually, better yet, I'll just go get the warden."

" _No!_ Auntie! Ethel!"

She was gone.

Damn, so much for not getting the guards involved.

* * *

Why was he cursed with such a wonderful, stupid family? Reid laid on his bunk, hands in his head. "I _know!"_

"So, I tell you not to go directly to the guards or the counselor, but the _warden_? Tell me, Officer Reid, do you really want a target on your back? Because, you're asking for one and I'm this - " Peterson held his fingers a centimeter apart, one inch from his face - "close to asking for another cell assignment. Do you really want to risk getting assigned to Hayes!"

The sound of the toilet flushing prompted Reid to put his pillow down. His wide eyes meeting Peterson's narrowed one as the man finished zipping up his green jumpsuit. "You wouldn't!" Would Miller actually do that to him?

"Don't tempt me!"

Reid gulped. Hayes had the only solitary cell in the Pod for a good reason - and Reid had a pretty good idea what that reason was.

"Inmate Reid, please report to the security module. Inmate Reid to the security module." He was really beginning to hate hearing his name on the intercom. It was beginning to sound like the herald of doom.

Peterson flopped back on his bunk and picked up his sports magazine. "Have fun at your funeral."

* * *

Reid knew that look, could smell it from a mile away. High school principle or prison warden, it didn't matter. They always stuck up for the bullies.

"Inmate Reid, take a seat."

It wasn't a kind gesture, more like a barking order, which Reid obeyed. The warden fiddled with the paper for another couple of seconds before he set it down in front of Reid.

"Your visitor, Ethel Armenta- "

"My aunt, yes."

The warden scowled at the interruption, but said nothing when Reid wisely sealed his lip. "She said you were accusing _my_ guards of theft! But there's no mention of which guard."

"Yes, sir, I don't know who"

"You don't _know._ So, you, an inmate -" the warden flipped through his file - "charged with rape and _homicide_ think it's okay to accuse my guards without any solid evidence."

"My photographs are missing, sir. I last saw them before the inspection."

"Well be that as it may, I went through the confiscated contraband, and I found this."

He pulled a photograph out of his drawer. "Is this the photograph?" The warden kept his fat fingers on the picture as he held it just out of arm's reach, but it was enough to confirm. It was the picture Alvez had taken of Henry and Michael at the zoo with their new stuffed animals.

"Yes." Reid reached out of his photograph, but it was pulled back before he could touch it.

"In order to get it back, I will need you to fill out this here form."

Reid clicked the pen and read the form. " _Conflict resolution_ ," he whispered. _I, Spencer Reid #76789, reported that on Sunday October 16, 2017 a photograph of my godsons went missing from my bunk. It was accidentally mixed up in the bag of confiscated items during a routine cell inspection and has now been returned to me. I thereby withdraw my accusations against the staff of Greensburg Prison due to the satisfactory resolution of this conflict._ Warden, I can't sign this. There are still three missing pictures."

"And you have no idea who could have taken them?"

"Well, I know a female inmate, Catherine Adams, has a vendetta against me -"

"But a female inmate, 7 months pregnant, didn't slip past barbed wire security and get into the men's dorms undetected. Furthermore, my deputy warden and I have already searched all of the staff and their lockers. No other photographs were found. There was a mistake, it has been corrected." He placed the pen back on the paper.

Reid folded his hands in front of his chest. "No, not until I have them all."

"Very well, until you decide to cooperate all privileges shall be revoked. Guard, take Inmate Reid to his new housing assignment."


End file.
